Guilty Innocence
by Mrs. Morzansson
Summary: Murtagh has always had a terrible life. When Eragon gets captured, he finds out a few things about Murtagh he didn't expect. Now he has one goal: break Murtagh's oaths. Mur/Nas, Ror/Kat, Era/Arya. I suck at summaries, just R&R PLEASE!
1. The Unexpected Visit

**A/N** :Hey, ya'll! Wuzzup? So, yeah…Oh, by the way, I don't know if I spelled ra'zac (or many other names) right, so bear with me.

Note: Murtagh/Nasuada. Katrina and Murtagh are just TALKING. I also apologize to all of you that may get several notifications; I just reread this story from many years ago and am cringing at the grammar and typos. So I'm fixing them to ease my OCD mind! This includes some sentence rearranging as well. :)

**Disclaimer**: I do NOT own The Inheritance Cycle. It belongs completely to Christopher Paolini.

Chapter 1: The Unexpected Visit

Chains rattled in the dungeons of Helgrind, leaving Katrina shivering- and not because of the cold. Her thoughts flickered between her fiancée, Roran, and the Raz'ac, a demonic species keeping her prisoner. Blood dripped from her mouth with a soft _splat_ as it hit the dirty, smelly, hard, cold floor. Her hands suspended above her by overly-tight metal cuffs that caused lack of circulation. She exhaled a silent cry and cursed her father under her breath. It _was_ his fault she was in this Godforsaken place, after all.

Her ears prickle and heart quicken. Footsteps, louder and louder as they approached.

She strained her ears and listened to the rhythm of the beating feet, not graceful enough to be the pitter-patter of a Ra'zac. Something about the pace seemed off tempo, like a humming bird with a broken wing.

Carrying a plate filled with foods Katrina had not seen since she had been taken from Carvahall, a man entered her cell He placed the mouth watering food in front of her and unlocked the cuffs that connected her to the muddy wall of her prison. She gratefully rubbed her wrists to get her blood flowing. He sat down in front of her, their toes only inches away from each other. He looked at her thoughtfully for a few moments and indicated for her to eat.

She picked up the bread, the most bland part of the meal. She would save the steak for last. Slowly, she sank her teeth into the soft, fresh dough, her eyes not leaving her visitor.

He was handsome, with medium-brown locks and striking pale blue eyes. She had never seen eyes as exotic and unusually light as these. Yet, there was a sadness that shrouded him, like his own personal rain cloud.

He smiled sweetly at her and waited for her to finish her food; afterwards, he began talking to her. "You're name is…" he questioned gently.

"Katrina."

"Katrina. Nice name. I'm Murtagh. Is there a logical reason why you're in here, Katrina? Why have the Raz'ac captured you?" His voice was still soft, but Katrina had a stirring suspicion he was trying to get information from her. Information she didn't have.

"I suppose you could say I am bait to lure my fiancée here," she replied curtly.

"Ah, yes, that's what I thought." He sighed. "Who is your fiancée?"

"Roran," she answered, pride seeping into her voice, mixing with fear.

"Roran Stronghammer? From Carvahall? Eragon's cousin?" He was interested now. He leaned closer to her, keen to hear what thoughts she might express.

"Yes…" She trailed off. How much could she say without saying too much? "The very one." At this point, she noticed he was clad entirely in black. His shirt was long sleeved. A sword was buckled to his waist, and he was wearing a black glove over his right hand. He sported the king's crescent on his left shoulder. Hatred burned up inside herself at this, though she kept her face emotionless.

Because of her wary silence, he sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose, no longer hanging on her every word. "As you may have already guessed, I was sent here to extract memories from your mind and get information from you about Eragon and your fiancée. Now, I _really_ prefer not to hurt you, seeing as that is all I've been doing to people lately, though I do need a few facts. I won't raid your mind. It is a _vile_ thing to do to breech someone's head." He screwed up his face in anger.

However, as quickly as it came, it disappeared. "I understand you most likely do not want people knowing your every thought and feeling; therefore, to makes this less painful on _both_ of us, you should probably tell me a few things about Roran and his cousin. Do not be anxious, they don't have to be personal or deep, just something that will keep them safe but will make the king happy with your answer so we don't have to suffer."

She arched an eyebrow. "_We_? Why would you suffer? You work for him! He is your master!" By the end of her simple rant, she raised her voice to a vicious bark.

This was obviously the wrong thing to say. Murtagh's kind, warm expression and tone immediately transformed. His jaw locked and he became rigid. "It's a long...story…" he finally mustered between clenched teeth. "Let's just say that one day someone will kill Galbatorix, and I hope that day will be soon." He took a deep, shaky breath and calmed himself. His original, understanding smile crept onto his face. "You need to tell me something, _anything_ that will make him happy. It can even be a lie," he added desperately. "Do you not have something I can give him? Of Roran or Eragon?"

She faltered. "Well…Roran works for Horst and really can't sword fight. And Eragon? Well, he's very…naïve. He vanished a while ago with the village storyteller, Brom, leaving Roran heartbroken. That's the best of my knowledge that may be of some use to you."

Murtagh smiled. "It shall do for now. Thank-you." He was about to walk away when he realized he forgot to lock Katrina back up. "I suppose I should chain you against the filthy wall again." There was an educated sadness in his words, as if he lived through her situation and felt sorry about her predicament. He sympathetically took her wrists in his hands to suspend them back in the cuffs, stopping as she winced in pain. He let go of her. "Sorry, did I hurt you?" he asked, concern consuming his tone.

She proceeded to rub her wrists, a few whimpers escaping her mouth.

Murtagh bent down and grasped her right arm; pulling up her sleeve, he inspected every ounce of her bruised and bloodied skin. He looked taken aback but also unsurprised. "Did the Raz'ac do this to you?"

Katrina nodded. Color rushed to her cheeks in humiliation. Unable to look her guest in the eye, she explained, "They said they were going to give me, '_The usssssual treatment_.'"

Murtagh cursed. "Damn! I'm sorry. No fate is worse than that of a prisoner's. _Waise heill._"

The skin immediately patched itself up, leaving no sign of the pain inflicted. "All better," he said soothingly. He repeated the process with her ankles, and other arm. "I'd heal your back, but I think we'd both be embarrassed if I untie your dress, so I suppose I won't," he joked.

Katrina laughed for the first time in months. "Thank-You for your kindness, even though you _do_ work for the king." She crinkled her nose in disgust.

Murtagh chuckled. "I know. I detest him as well. But, do not worry, Katrina, Fiancée of Roran, your future husband and cousin are coming to rescue you. Galbatorix expects them to arrive later this week. I will try everything in my power to make sure you three escape, along with Eragon's dragon."

Katrina gasped. "Rorans coming? I knew he-wait. Eragon...he has a _dragon_? No, that can't be. You're lying!"

Murtagh smiled mischievously. "No, I am not. When I met him, I was as amazed as you. He does not seem like the rider type."

"Of all the people!"

Murtagh chuckled again. "Yes, well, I suppose it is hereditary."

"Hereditary?" Katrina gazed at him wonderingly. "You know who Eragon's parents are? He has always lived with his uncle...until he passed away some months ago."

Murtagh bit his lip, I-said-too-much splayed across his face. "I have to go. Remember, though: Roran is coming for you! You will be out of here soon if all goes well." He stood up. As he went to the door, Katrina realized why his footing sounded off: he was limping. Just as he reached the door, he turned back to Katrina. "If you escape, Roran will most likely spirit you to Surda, where the Varden resides. If he does, may I ask a favor of you?" His tone was nonchalant, but his eyes gave away his true disposition.

"What do you ask of me?" asked Katrina, curious.

"Could you tell Nasuada…that Murtagh apologizes, that he never wanted this, that one day it'll be all over; he promises it'll be okay."

Katrina was now more confused than ever and at the same time burning to interrogate Murtagh. "Okay, I swear."

Murtagh smiled. "Thank-You."

And with that, he limped out of the disgusting cell, never looking back.

_Strange, _thought Katrina. She pondered one of the only kind visits she had received since she was taken to Helgrind until she feel asleep. She dreamt of Roran saving her, and Murtagh with his captivating eyes.

**A/N:** Hoo ha! Chapter one is DONE! It's short, though…don't worry, the next one will be longer! Review! I'll update once I have 4-ish reviews, say?

(Mmmkay, so this is revised chapter one. If I get around to editing the other chapters, whoopdy-doo. Here are still plenty of errors in here, I'm sure. Too tired to hunt them.)

**Yes, so review please!**

Constructive criticism happily welcomed! I like that stuff, help me work on my writing. )

One more thing: do you think there should be an Eragon romance in here?

Eragon/who? Tell me! (**NOT MURTAGH**!) Katrina and Murtagh are friends, just to remind you. Unless you want them to have something going on, that would be very interesting…Anyway, lemme know!


	2. Tell Me More About Murtagh

**A/N**: Sweet! 10 hours and I already have 4 reviews! Surprising…

As to all of you who did review, thanks for the positive feedback! Okay, here's the second chappie!

* * *

Chapter 2: Tell Me More About Murtagh

Eragon made his way through the tents on the battlefield. It had been just three days since the battle was over, and everyone was just loading up their cargo to head back to their homes. Finally, he reached a green tent that he swiftly entered.

Nasuada was waiting impatiently trying to place her volumes oh hair up in a large bun when she heard him breech the entrance of her tent. She twisted around; in doing so her hair flung out and all her hard work was destroyed. Her hair was getting outrageously long, and she was just about ready to whack it off. How was she to concentrate with hair in her eyes?

"My liege," he acknowledged.

"Eragon, pray, what brings you here?" she asked, though her irritated features were still focused on her annoying bangs that draped to the bridge of her nose.

"Nasuada, it is my cousin. His fiancee had been kidnapped and we are heading to Helgrind to free her come sunset."

Nasuada raised a thin eyebrow. "Oh? And what makes you think you can at this moment? You cannot leave. Please wait until we have evacuated the Burning Plains, Eragon. Our army needs you for moral support. They are afraid that Mur-I mean, the Red Rider will take advantage of our frantic behavior."

"I wouldn't call running around packing up cargo like a chicken with his head cut off is _frantic_," he teased. Then, he said more seriously, "And I do not believe Murtagh will come."

She sighed. "I don't think he will either, but still. And remember-we are trying to keep this covered up. He will be referred to as, 'The Red Rider.'"

"I know, but…" he shuffled his feet as he felt a stabbing sensation of sorrow in his heart. As usual, the pain was quickly replaced with sheer anger. "I will _never_ forgive him."

Nasuada walked up to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. "Do not worry, Eragon. Do what you must. But remember: you kill Galbatorix, you free Murtagh. _That_ is when you will make judgments whether to forgive or not. When his slavery is over, you will see how corrupt he _truly_ is."

"I know, I'm just…" he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"I understand. I am…_confused_, too." Her eyes grew distant as her attention finally was taken away from her bangs. She sighed. "I suppose I should let you go free your cousin's fiancee. I am in debt to him, after all. Sunset, you say?"

"Yes, sunset. Thank-You, milady. My apologies for leaving at such a rash time," he truly did not care if it was a "rash" time. He was going to leave even without her permission; he just decided it would be wise to inform her first.

* * *

Sunset came slower than Eragon could imagine. Roran, had been as antsy as a three-year old since the second he woke up. "May we leave early, please?" he had questioned Eragon the whole day. By noon Eragon was prepared to strangle him.

"We will leave at _sunset_, Roran, for the last damned TIME!" he had yelled.

At this, Roran had recoiled, only to begin harassing Eragon anew twenty minutes later.

Eragon thanked the gods when the sky had swarmed with colors of pink and orange. "Time to go, Roran," he stated.

"Let's go," replied his cousin so determinedly that Eragon stifled a laugh. They loaded their food, weapons, and everything else needed for their adventure onto Saphira. Then, they hopped onto her back and strapped their legs into her saddle.

Nasuada and Arya approached the dragon with blue scales that gleamed like dazzling gems. The dark skinned Varden leader advanced toward Saphira's saddle where Eragon was. "Eragon, Roran, I wish you good luck on your trip to Helgrind. The Ra'zac are fierce, though you both know that already. May the gods watch over you, and may the enemies stay at bay." No one needed to ask _which_ enemies she was talking about. The stabbing sensation returned to Eragon.

Arya locked eyes with each of them. Eragon felt color rising to his cheeks as he gazed into her emerald eyes. They had such depth he felt he could just gaze for hours and never find the bottom. They were unusual green eyes; they were always the same pure emerald, while most green eyes change shades. Eragon loved everything about the elf princess-her black locks, slender form, and heart-shaped face. "Good luck. May the stars watch over you," was all she said.

Eragon forced himself to turn his stare to the horizon. "we're off to Helgrind!" _Let's go, Saphira!_

_Is Roran ready? _Asked his dragon playfully.

Eragon cringed at her teasing. _Believe me, he's ready._

Saphira grumbled, and Eragon knew she was chuckling. _We're off!_

All three rose into the sky. All different shades of pink and orange encircled them as they glided off towards Helgrind. Streaming clouds gracefully flew passed them. 

Roran gasped. "It's so beautiful!"

"I know, isn't it? One of the main reasons I love flying so."

"How long do you think it will take to arrive at Helgrind?" popped Roran.

Eragon laughed. "For the thirtieth time, Roran, about three days you will see your fiancee again."

"Three days…" Roran spent the remainder if the flight daydreaming, and Eragon conversed with Saphira, planning what to do once they reached Helgrind.

That night they camped out on a grassy field near the Jiet River. Silence shrouded them, and Eragon felt obliged to talk of something, "So…" he began.

"I can't believe it! We're finally going to Helgrind!" barked Roran excitedly.

Eragon sighed. "Can we please talk about something _other_ than what lies at Helgrind? I'd not think about it."

Roran was silent for a minute. Then, he said in a whisper, "I have something I want to talk about that's _not _related to Helgrind. I actually really want to know."

Eragon knew it was a subject he wouldn't like just by Roran's tone. "Yes?"

Roran took a deep breath. "Tell me more about Murtagh."

Eragon's reaction was just as Roran expected. His jaw locked, and his face darkened in a way very reminiscent to Murtagh. Only recently did Eragon realize how much his disowned brother and his expressions were so similar. "I don't want to talk about him."

Roran sighed. "I know, but am I not entitled to know about my cousin?"

"He is NOT your cousin!" Eragon snapped vehemently. "He is NOT my brother. _You _are."

"Well, you should always know about your enemies. It'll help us to know more about him. For all we know, he'll show up at Helgrind! I _want_ to know more about him. It's my right!"

_He does have a point, little one,_ commented Saphira.

_So, you think I should tell him all I know of Murtagh?_

_Yes, Eragon. It is in his rights to know how you feel about your "former" brother_.

_But, Saphira, I don't want to talk about him!_

_Why?_

_Because…_

_Because you think you will start hyperventilating? Just tell him about your experiences together one more time and what you felt during those days. Tell him what you thought of him and how you two got along. You've done it once. Remember the night after the battle when you scryed Katrina? It shouldn't be that hard._

_It _shouldn't_, but it _is.

_I will be here to give you strength, little one._

_Thank-You._ Eragon ended the telepathic conversation.

Roran was looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Okay, I'll tell you, but it might take awhile, so just sit back and get comfortable."

Roran sat down and leaned against Saphira's leg.

Eragon sat down beside his cousin and looked at his toes during the whole tale:

"Murtagh was…edgy, you could say? He never really let you too close to him. I realized later that it was because of his past. He learnt never to let anyone become too bonded with you, because from his experiences it was too good to last."

"Wait," interrupted Roran. "I thought you guys were like, brothers? No pun intended."

"Yes," he responded curtly. "We were. We laughed and had a great time together. He was just always so _wary_ though. And he never would talk about his past. Ever. So, I decided too break into his mind."

"Like you did to mind on the boat before I arrived to the battle?"

"Kind of, only I was not trying to steal your memories. I was only trying to talk to you. I suppose you could say I was trying to live his life without _actually_ living it."

At this, Roran growled. "That's despicable."

"That's what we do. It's how we see if people are trustworthy. I was so tempted to breech his mind. He was so…mysterious. Something inside me wanted to crack that mystery." Eragon related his journey with Murtagh to his cousin from the moment Murtagh saved him from the Ra'zac to the moment he was "killed."

"It was terrible. He _was_ like a long lost brother. And when he told me his life story…" Eragon shuddered. "His life has been hell, Roran, and all people ever saw was his father. They never looked at him for Murtagh. All they saw was his father's face. And, I have to admit, from the images I've seen in people's minds of Morzan, he _does _look a great deal like him."

"That's," Roran paused to find a word to say. "Sad. So he was scorned his whole life because of his father? Who he hated until the day he died?"

"Yeah. Now He has become Morzan, though. It does not matter what people thought of him anymore. He is treacherous snake who will die with his master!"

Roran arched an eyebrow. "I thought he told you he was a slave?"

"Yes, he is. But he could have died noble, but instead decided to live as a traitor. Disgusting!"

"Tell me what he told you at the Burning Plains again."

Eragon relayed Murtagh's conversation with him on the plateau.

"What is a true name?" Roran asked.

Eragon told him.

"Well, what if when Galbatorix discovered his true name, he prevented Murtagh from killing himself, or to willingly allow others to kill him?"

Eragon didn't say anything. He was still too hateful against Murtagh to permit any pity. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight," he declared. He turned over and closed his eyes. Confusing feelings twisted inside him like a tornado. Feelings he did not understand.

* * *

Murtagh landed at the front gate of Galbatorix's gothic castle. The guards defending the main entrance were erected in a superior manner that ward of tourists. Their eyes turned to Murtagh as he landed. He was simply an expert mercenary to them. One who didn't have any morals or a conscience. Galbatorix had done an excellent job hiding Murtagh's true disposition from his workers. He had forbidden Murtagh from telling any servants, guards, or anyone else who enters the castle regularly his true political opinions or that he was a slave. At first this made him angry. Everyone had (and still did so) talk behind his back about his treachery, the tale becoming more gruesome and hate-filled in every telling until finally some servants didn't bother hiding their distaste for him. He was now used to the evil glares he received from the workers. Little did they know that if _he_ were king, he would actually _pay_ them for taking their precious time to do his laundry, bidding, ect.

Murtagh unsaddled and waved at the soldiers to open the gates.

The emerald encrusted barriers slowly flung itself open to reveal a large, neatly kept lawn with a large castle in the center. It took Murtagh nearly ten minutes to limp to front door. Upon arriving, the large iron doors were pushed open by two underfed slaves. Pity welled up inside Murtagh. He could almost see the invisible chains binding them to Galbatorix, just like him. At one point in time, Murtagh had nearly lost his sanity and actually saw metal clasps attached to his wrists and ankles with a long metal linked chain that stretched to Galbatorix's throne room. He had tried to break the link but just received an electrical shock. He then had passed out. 

Thorn had told him the next morning he had experienced a mental breakdown from so much stress and misery. He had just grumbled a, "I'm not depressed," and went back to sleep.

He was shot back to reality when he heard the iron doors _clang_ to a halt, proving that they were entirely open. He strutted in, keeping his nose up in a manner similar to the guards at the gate. The two slaves gave him a sinister look. Murtagh's black humor made him think of the saying, "if looks could kill." Then again, black humor was the only kind he had anymore. He chuckled to himself softly.

One of the slaves couldn't help but ask, "What happened to your leg?"

Murtagh glared at him. "I fell." He remembered how he had asked Thorn on the way to Helgrind to land for a little bit so he could rest, only to be shot at by angry villagers stirring up anarchy By the Jiet River. They had encircled him and fired several arrows at him, one sinking into his stomach and the other in his thigh. He had retreated to a nearby cave and healed his stomach. However, he was so weary he passed out before he healed his leg.

The slave nodded and hid a smirk. "Sorry to hear it."

Murtagh ignored him and continued on his way.

Thorn did not follow his rider into the castle. _Good luck, young one. I will be in the Dragon Hold, for I cannot fit inside their. But, please, be careful._

Murtagh's pulse began to race. He put on a brave face and tried to send a wave of courage to Thorn to prove he would be fine, but he couldn't. His knees began to shake, though he managed to conceal his fear so the slaves would not see him cowering. As swiftly as his injury would let him, he made his way to the throne room. The limp there seemed like ages. It felt as if he was a snail, procrastinating his time as long as possible. Once he reached the throne room doors, he took a deep, shaky breath. _I am ready,_ he told himself. Carefully, He pushed the doors open, hearing the _creek_ of the hinges.

A man with gray hair and a malevolent countenance sat with annoyingly correct posture in a large throne decorated with rubies and silver studs. The chair was big enough to fit three Murtaghs and two average weight people. Murtagh was becoming so depressed lately that it had become hard for him to stomach food. "Your Highness," he said in his low, smooth voice. He gave him a low bow, though the gesture made him nauseous.

"Ah, Murtagh. Pleasure." Galbatorix's tone indicated that seeing his slave return without a prize was definitely not a _pleasure_.

Murtagh stood up straight and prepared himself for what was to come. "I could not capture the boy. He is…well guarded." His voice was steady, though he was terrified. _Thorn! I can't do this!_

Thorn's mind was filled with pain and sorrow. _I am sorry I am not there, Murtagh. Stay strong._ Murtagh could tell Thorn would never forgive himself for abandoning his rider.

Galbatorix slowly stood up and locked eyes with Murtagh. He advanced towards him until Murtagh could feel his breath on his face. "Murtagh," he said, enunciating every word.

"Yes?" Murtagh tried extremely hard not to snap at him.

Without any warning, Murtagh felt a stabbing pain in his mind. Galbatorix was breaking in to see his memories! He threw up his sturdy barriers and defended his thoughts as well as he could.

Of course, in the end it was futile.

Galbatorix simply increased the painful attack of his probe, and in the end Murtagh collapsed at his feet, gasping in pain. "Stop!" he screamed, unaware that he was saying something. 

Galbatorix merely increased the density of his search. Murtagh screamed so loud his throat grew sore. Finally, Galbatorix extracted all his memories from Murtagh, a look of disgust swelling on his face. "You insolent brat! YOU LET HIM GO!" He looked down at Murtagh, who's breath came in shuddering gasps.

"I'm sorry," He managed to say. "You told me to _try_ to capture him. I tried."

Galbatorix lifted his thick shoe and kicked Murtagh in the stomach with all his strength.

Murtagh tried to scream, but the air whooshed out of him as he heard the _crack_ of his ribs breaking. His vision was clouded with black spots and he knew he wouldn't be awake much longer.

As he slipped into unconsciousness, Murtagh heard Galbatorix snap his fingers and a soldier approached. "The dungeon, and give him _much_ more pain than the usual dose."

The last thing Murtagh heard was Thorn's cries of, _Murtagh! _

**A/N:** Wow, that took a while. )

And the angst takes its toll! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! lol

Honestly, people, 70 hits and only 5 reviews? Please, all I'm asking for is, "It's great," or "It sucks," or, "Its good," or something along those lines! It doesn't have to be amazingly detailed (though I would appreciate it). 

Now, I've received a few Eragon/Arya suggestions, so if I get a few more, than I will probably make them a couple. Anyway, R&R, please!

I'll update when I get oh, say, 5 reviews?


	3. Problems in the Plan

I noticed I forgot to stick up a disclaimer on chapter 2, so I'll stick up TWO disclaimers this time to make up for old times sake! WOOT! Okay, so here's the third chappie.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Eragon, nor am I married to Murtagh. But a girl can dream, right?

**Disclaimer**: Murtagh, Eragon, and all that jazz belong solely to Christopher Paolini (though I could make a **_very_** good case on how a lot of it belongs to George Lucas, but I won't get into that).

* * *

Chapter 3: Problems in the Plan

_A man's arms was suspended in chains in a dank cell. He was shirtless, bootless, and his leggings had been ripped to his knees. His breathing would have been in rasps if he had the strength to do so. Thus, is chest rose slowly up and down in time with his fading pulse. Soft brown bangs obscured his face, though a tear crawled down his starved cheek and mixed with the pool of blood surrounding him. On his right shoulder you could see the beginnings of a scar. His stomach growled, though he was used to it by now._

_He's breathing slowed even more, had that been possible, and he was entirely still. He flinched as light filled the disgusting cell. Someone had entered his room and bent down to his level. _

_The second man mumbled something to the prisoner. The man weakly nodded. The second man murmured something else, and this time the prisoner defiantly shook his head._

_The man stood upright and abruptly kicked the prisoner in the stomach repeatedly until the man lost consciousness. The second man abandoned the cell and left the prisoner alone again in the darkness._

* * *

Eragon watched the stars in his dreamy elven state. He could hear Roran's loud snores beside him. He had passed out some hours ago, most likely fantasizing about Katrina. It seemed to be all he really was concerned about nowadays.

However, it did seem as if Roran was fascinated with Murtagh. He understood Roran's curiosity-you don't discover you have long lost cousins everyday. Other than that, though, nothing really seemed to have been going on in his head.

Eragon spent the whole night plotting how he would attack Helgrind. He went through every possible situation in his head. The Red Rider and Galbatorix there awaiting him, Katrina being guarded by a whole fortress of Ra'zac, _anything_ that might happen at Helgrind.

Every time he considered that _he_ might be there, the now more and more familiar pangs in his stomach began to form, and, as usual, were followed by increasing hate…or was it even loathing, but instead something else? He pondered Roran's words. _Didn't he say he was a slave?_

Yes, he did.

_Well, what if when Galbatorix discovered his true name, he prevented Murtagh from killing himself, or to willingly allow others to kill him?_

Impossible. Eragon racked his brain, trying to remember if there was a way to determine slaves, like some kind of branding on the skin or specific item they were constantly forced to wear. There had to be a way! _Why the hell do I care so much?_

He didn't have an answer.

_Do not worry yourself over such matters, little one. What's done is done,_ came Saphira's always soothing voice in his head. As soothing and gentle as a silk blanket.

_I'm not trying to,_ he replied curtly. _Like you said, what's done is done. Now, I think I've finally come up with a plan to save Katrina._

Saphira was aware that he was trying to change the subject and did not press the matter. _Relay it to Roran when he awakes. I love you._

_Aye, I love y-_

He was cut off when Roran began tossing and turning. Sweat dripped off his face and he yelled in his sleep.

Eragon frantically shook his cousin. "Roran! Wake up! PLEASE! RORAN!"

His cousin snapped his eyes open immediately, wide awake.

"Eragon!" he shouted. "Oh, it was terrible! I had the most vivid dream, I could have _sworn_ it was real!"

"Calm down, brother," said Eragon fretfully. "Tell me what happened."

"It was terrible! This man was bloody in this cell half naked and covered in whip marks and blood _everywhere_! And then this man came in and-" At this point Roran shuddered. "That man was vicious and cruel. He was old and kicked the half dead man in the stomach for minutes until he finally passed out!" He shivered. "I don't think I've ever seen something that felt so real. It was like I was actually there." Roran described his entire dream to Eragon in vivid detail and grotesque imagery.

Concern swept across Eragon. "It was only a dream. Could you see everything crystal clear? Like never before?"

"Yes! Every crack in the cell was visible."

"What did the visitor look like?"

Roran tried to find words to describe him. "He had gray hair, was tall, and ruthless with expensive clothes and a crown…the way I imagined the king." Roran's breathing was still uneven. He was obviously shaken.

"Calm down, brother. Calm down. Now, could you see the prisoner's face?"

Roran took a unsteady breath and shook his head. "No, he hung his head as if in shame. He had brown hair and the _remains_ of black leggings."

Horror welled up in Eragon. "Did-did he have any-any unusual scars?"

Roran nodded. "I don't know, but on his right shoulder was what looked like the beginnings of a white scar, though most of him was covered in blood, so I'm not entirely sure. Why do you ask?" Roran's breath had evened out some and he was starting to think clearly. "Do you think it might have been Murtagh? Is that why you ask?"

"No, of course not," lied Eragon. "Why would Murtagh be in a cell?"

"Yeah. That is a good question. Besides, it was only a dream, right?"

Eragon stared at his cousin long and hard. "Brother," he said alas, "Are you _sure_ you saw this crystal clear? Could you feel and smell the aroma of the cell?"

"Yes," replied Roran seriously. "But, it doesn't mean anything, right?"

Eragon continued to lock eyes with his cousin. "I think…I believe you may have had a vision, Roran. I have had one before. It sounds like you just experienced one."

Amazingly, Roran snorted. "I do not believe in such nonsense."

"It's true. I've endured one. It was terrible but wonderful at the same time. But if that _was_ a vision, it couldn't have been Murtagh you saw. The visitor was most likely Galbatorix, but he would not put his top mercenary in the dungeons and, from the state you described him in, thrown him in the torture chambers. Those types of tools are for prisoners, _not_ your number one soldier."

"Hmmmmm…"

They pondered what Roran had seen until Eragon finally said, "Do not worry about it. I am sure it was just a dream. Go back to sleep, okay? We have plenty to talk about in the morning."

* * *

The next day Eragon explained his plan to rescue Katrina to Roran in extreme detail.

"It's…basic," stated Roran.

"So are Nasuada's battle plans, but they always seem to work, don't they?"

"I suppose so."

"So, what do you think, _besides_ the fact its basic?" asked Eragon, already seeing the answer in his cousin's mind.

"I think it might just work. What if Galbatorix or Murtagh show up though?"

"Then it shall be tweaked." He gave Roran an encouraging smile.

His cousin shrugged, then grinned. "Worth a try."

* * *

After they had eaten a meager meal of vegetables, they packed up and once again loaded their food onto Saphira. Once this was accomplished, they climbed up her back and strapped their legs into her saddle.

_Ready?_ Asked Saphira.

_As I'll ever be._ With that, they flew off, setting a due course to Helgrind.

Eragon's original prediction of three days was overestimated. By sunset, they had reached Dras Leona. Saphira hid in a nearby clearing of forest, and the two boys went in to town and bought some black traveling cloaks. That night they would carry out their plot.

Eragon and Roran's faces were concealed in the shadow of their cloak hoods. They spoke in hushed whispers and nervousness made their voices crack slightly.

"You ready?" the rider asked his cousin.

Roran took a deep, shaky breath. "Yes. Let's rescue Katrina." He looked up towards the sky. Saphira flew so high up she was invisible in the black sky. She stealthily glided towards Helgrind. "How long do you predict this will take?"

"I don't know, brother, I don't know." Eragon had always referred to Roran as his brother ever since he found out about his heritage. He was repulsed to discover he was Morzan's son.

He pushed what he believed to be selfish thoughts aside. Now was not the time for him to brood. They nervously made their way to Helgrind, anxiousness numbing their senses until all they could feel was the beginnings of adrenaline. It took them nearly an hour to finally reach the dreaded, ominous rock. In those full sixty minutes, they were so senseless they did not realize how many countless times Roran tripped.

At one sight, Eragon immediately shook his head. "You see that opening way at the top, Roran?"

Roran strained his eyes until he saw a gloomy cave's mouth hundreds of feet above them. He nodded. "Aye, I see it, but it's so high up!"

"That is how you enter. Saphira will have to fly us." As he said this, he beckoned Saphira to quietly approach them.

She did so, her shimmering form hardly visible in the black of night. They heard the gentle _whoosh_ of her gem like wings. The rumbling of earth indicated that she had landed, and Eragon could see her blue outline with his keen elf senses. He helped Roran onto the saddle and jumped on himself. As Saphira lifted off, he was jostled some, though he managed to stay on her-he was not strapped in due to lack of time.

Saphira flew up to the Ra'zac's lair and landed with surprising grace and gentleness. Eragon helped his "brother" off of his dragon and they tiptoed into the darkness of the dreary cave's mouth. They were walking straight into the lion's mouth to search for their devoured friend.

* * *

_Clip, clip, clip, clip _.

Roran froze. "W-What was that?"

"I-I don't know. Don't appear afraid. They like that." They had been wandering aimlessly for what felt like hours searching for Katrina's cell, their hearts feeling as if they could run out of their chests.

Roran began whispering: "You think it's th-" He was cut short when a large club smacked him in the head and he slumped to the floor.

"RORAN!" Eragon screamed, unaware of how incredibly stupid his action was.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Hissing and screeching of Ra'zac filled the air as two jumped from the darkness above them.

"I'm fine!" shouted Roran. "Eragon look out!"

Eragon whipped around to see a Ra'zac charging at him with the force of an ox. He pinned Eragon to the ground and lifted his hood slightly to force Eragon to smell their paralyzing breath. Eragon couldn't think. _Concentrate…Bloody hell, you can beat them, after all the damned training with Oromis you can beat them! Concentrate!_

Roran ran over to his cousin and kicked the foul beast so hard in the abdomen he was knocked off his Eragon. The Ra'zac hissed and changed his course for Roran, but Eragon was too quick for him.

Just as the Ra'zac lunged at Roran, Eragon drew his temporary iron dwarf sword and plunged it into the beast's stomach.

The Ra'zac cringed and retreated as the other bombarded the two warriors.

"Give up, rider. We have your coussssin's fianccccce."

A woman's high groaning reached their ears. The Ra'zac held Katrina tight against it with a knife held at her throat. "We will disssspossse of her when ssshe isss no longer needed."

"KATRINA!" yelled Roran, pain in his voice. "I SWEAR TO THE GODS, IF YOU HURT HER-"

"Oh," said the other Ra'zac conversationally, "We will not harm her if your coussssin cooperates." At this the beast turned his attention towards Eragon again. "Do not try anything sssstupid, boy. Magic will cosssst you the pretty girlsssssss life."

Eragon growled and indicated for Roran to lower his weapons. After this was done, he put his hands up. "We are unarmed."

The Ra'zac threw Katrina at them so forcefully she whimpered. She landed in Roran's protective embrace.

Eragon continued to growl like a dog. Suddenly, he heard another feminine scream. "How many prisoners do you have here?"

The lead Ra'zac was silent for a moment, and Eragon assumed he was feeling quite smug. "A few."

Eragon looked at the Ra'zac with pure hatred that he hadn't felt in a very long time. "Show them to me."

Both Raz'ac chuckled like serpents in the dark.

"HOW MANY PRISONERS DO YOU HAVE?!"

The first Ra'zac replied as he had before: "A few."

More womanly screams and cries of pain from down the dark corridor. This made Eragon do something incredibly stupid. He yelled a battle cry and charged at the Ra'zac. "You foul little-" he cursed them with every befouled word he could think of in the ancient language.

"We told you not to do anything ssssstupid, boy," cooed the lead Raz'ac. He disappeared into the darkness. Seconds later, he reappeared and bit-with his shapr, piercing beak- Eragon's ankle

Eragon screamed in pain as he felt a bone in his right foot snap. Katrina yelped in horror and buried her face in Roran's chest as Eragon collapsed to the floor.

The second Raz'ac quickly hoisted a heavy rock and thrust it towards Roran. It hit him square in the chest.

"Roran!" cried Katrina as Roran yelled out as his collarbone split.

Angered, Eragon yelled, "Thrysta!" and two Ra'zac went flying and hit the floor with a hard _thump_. The lead Ra'zac hissed. "You curssssed boy! You are sssso foolisssssh! We ssshall take you back to Galbatorix ssso you can reccceive your…_proper_ judgment."

Eragon was about to recite the lethal words in the Ancient Language to demolish the Raz'ac permanently, but just as the words were going to slip forth from his chapped lips-

A snicker was the last thing Eragon heard before he felt the weight of a large, solid, heavy object make contact with his skull and then a warm, sticky trickling down his pale neck…

The world went black as unconsciousness seeped in the corners of his mind.

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry this took so long to get the revised chappie up. It's pretty much the same as the last one! :D I hope I fixed a few confusions. Yeah, I haven't read any parts of the book that don't have to do with Murtagh for a while, so I forgot a few things about the Raz'ac…Limh. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it! And thanks for all the reviews, everyone! :D

Lemme know if there are any inconsistencies. I tried to edit most of the parts that need editing, but knowing my imperfection, I probably missed quite a few things. (sighs)


	4. Deathly Arguments

**A/N**: okay, here's the next chappie! And thanks to all who reviewed!

**Disclaimer**: I do **NOT** own Eragon, okay, peoples?

* * *

Chapter 4: Deathly Arguments

Murtagh slapped at his forearms. Those darn mosquitoes just wouldn't leave him alone. He already received at least ten bug bites, and he had only been in his cell since his return from the Burning Plains. He had hoped he would find decent information from the Katrina girl about her fiancee or his brother. Maybe, _maybe_ this might just save him from the constant torture he knew he would receive.

But, of course, Galbatorix was not happy with the news Katrina had given him. He laughed mirthlessly. What had he expected? An easy ride out of willingly let the enemy roam free?

He continued smacking at his wrists until the flesh that the torture chambers had missed was pink and raw. He knocked his head against the filthy, whimpered, and gave up on killing the infernal pests. He had no strength to fight some unworthy battle. He closed his eyes and passed out listening to the constant buzzing.

* * *

"Place them behind the Invisible Wall," growled Galbatorix. He had very devious plans to carry out for them. Plans to make Eragon suffer not only physically but emotionally, too. He knew the Invisible Wall would greatly help the boy with guilt and anger. The king was planning to pay a visit to the man in the cell where the Invisible Wall was located.

The guard the sinister king was addressing stared at him with an eyebrow arched. "In _his _prison, sir?"

"Do we have any other Invisible Wall, scum?"

The guard looked down to his feet, embarrassed. "No, Your Highness, I just thought that maybe…you would like to change the prisoners location if we hide someone in his cell?"

Galbatorix glared at him with such icy eyes the guard flinched. "Did I _ask_ you to move him?"

"No…"

"THEN WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I'LL HAVE YOU MOVE HIM?"

"Sorry…sir…I should…leave now…" The huard dashed out of the room before he could be tortured.

* * *

As he feel into a deep sleep, a man bearing the king's crest entered Murtagh's cell carrying one unconscious man, woman, and elf. He dropped them on the opposite side of the rather large and disgusting floor in a heap. He then said the words Galbatorix told him to: "_Moi stenr!"_

Suddenly, the three beings disappeared, and the man knew they were behind an invisible stone wall. It prevented anyone in the cell to hear them or see them, though the people behind the wall did not suffer this barricade.

Which is why Murtagh was not aware that anyone else was trapped in his prison along with him later when he awoke. Nor was he aware that Galbatorix was using him to torture his brother.

* * *

Eragon rubbed his head and cracked open his eyes slowly. It took him a moment to process his surroundings and why he was there. Then it hit him-the screwed up rescue plot, the Ra'zac saying some spell and then…darkness. That was the last thing he remembered. He lifted his head slightly to see Roran and Katrina both next to him asleep, though Roran stirred. Within ten minutes, him and Eragon were sitting up conversing in undertones.

"So how are we going to escape?" asked Roran.

Eragon sighed. "I don't know, Roran, I don't know."

Katrina yawned and sat up. After recent events came back to her memory, she wrapped her arms around Eragon's cousin and wept silently in his chest. "I don't know whether to be happy or miserable to see you. He caught you…and he _promised_ he'd try everything to make sure you wouldn't get caught."

Roran embraced her so tight Katrina couldn't breathe. Then, he tilted his head and kissed her softly. "Of course you should be happy to see me! Even if we are in a cell in…uh, where are we?"

"Uru'baen or Gil'ead most likely," answered Eragon. He turned his attention to Katrina. "Who promised he would try to help us?"

Katrina gazed at him with tearful eyes. She sniffed. "A sweet man who entered my cell." She held out her unscratched arms. "He healed me some, though he did not heal my back to save my modesty. He was very nice."

Roran examined his fiancee's limbs. "He did a good job, whoever he was."

Katrina nodded. "I wish I remember his name…it began with an, 'M.'"

Suddenly, the door opened to the unsanitary prison and in walked no other than Galbatorix. Eragon began to yell at him while Katrina gasped and Roran hissed.

"Galbatorix you senseless snake! Release us _immediately_!" Eragon shouted.

The evil king appeared to have not have heard him. He took a deep breath and scanned around the room.

"GALBATORIX! DO YOU HEAR ME?" barked Roran. He stood up and prepared to charge at the king but ran into an invisible force and hit the ground. He hissed again, and stood up. He reached out with his hand, only to feel it hit something hard. "Eragon," he whispered. "Feel this"

Eragon stood up and felt the texture on the invisible force. "It seems to be some kind of-" he studied the rough bumps and cracks under his fingertips. "stone wall that we can't see that is preventing Galbatorix from hearing or seeing us. It's magic. It's preventing us from leaving the cell."

"I was wondering why we aren't in chains," said Katrina thoughtfully. "This is odd…being held hostage but not binded."

Galbatorix turned his attention to a petite figure Eragon hadn't noticed before on the opposite side of the dungeon chamber.

He gasped. "Someone's over there!"

Roran nodded. "Yes, there is! _That_ must have been who Galbatorix must have been coming to see."

The three of them watched the conversation that ensued:

The captive's eyes flickered under his lids in a dreamy state. _"Wake up,"_ Galbatorix was muttering to him. When he did not move, the man felt piercing pain in his abdomen. He yelped and his eyes shot open. As he looked up, he gazed into the hateful face of the one man that Eragon assumed most likely haunted many of his nightmares.

Katrina let out a cry as the boot made contact with the man's ribcage. A sickening _crack_ rang out and the man gasped in pain but made no effort to yell.

"Are you ready to behave?" projected Galbatorix in an unusually loud voice.

Murtagh had little to no strength to argue and nodded weakly.

"It's only been a few days and you already look as terrible as the other prisoners that have spent _years_ here. My, my, we can't have _that_ can we?" mocked the king maliciously. "I have a task for you. Are you up to killing the Varden leader?" Eragon had a feeling he already knew the answer.

This received a rise out of the man. He shook his head and mustered up the strength to retort, "No," weakly, but there was a conviction in his voice. "I will _never_ kill her."

Eragon gasped in horror.

"What?" asked Roran at Eragon's cry, though he was more interested in the scene before them.

"…I'd know that voice anywhere."

This time Roran turned and glanced at his cousin. "Whose is it?"

"_Murtagh_."

Katrina let out a cry. "No! He can't be in here! He was too nice to deserve this!"

The two boys turned their attention to her. "You met him?" they asked in unison.

Her voice was horse as she tried to fight back tears. "He was the man who healed my wounds at Helgrind. He said he'd try everything in his power to prevent you form being captured, but-"

"He was in here, being tortured," finished Eragon.

Katrina bit her lip and nodded, tearfully. She buried her face in Roran's chest and sobbed as she listened to Murtagh's bones be broken by the evil tyrant. "He-was-so-k-kind," she sobbed.

Eragon turned his attention back to his disowned brother and watched as he was beaten mercilessly by his master. He pounded on the invisible stone that prevented him from helping Morzan's eldest.

For some odd reason, it pained him to see Murtagh be beaten do brutally. "**MURTAGH!!**" he shouted so loud his throat grew raw. "**STOP IT!!**"

Murtagh's screaming only increased in volume as Galbatorix tortured him with magic. Eragon watched, eyes streaming, and Murtagh unconsciously begged for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry" I'm sorry for letting him go! I'm sorry! Please, _stop _this!" Murtagh cried.

Galbatorix halted just as his boot was about to beat his apprentice again. Murtagh gasped for air as Galbatorix raised a mocking eyebrow. "You're _sorry_? That's the best you can say. That's the best you can _say? 'Sorry?'_"

Murtagh whimpered weakly as Galbatorix ridiculed him. "W-what am I s-suppose to say?"

"What do you mean, '_What am I suppose to say?_' Isn't it obvious?"

"N-no…"

Galbatorix sighed. "You are _such_ a slow learner. Tell me you have no loyalties to the Varden, their leader, or that stupid _brother_ of yours that has been stirring up mayhem in your absence."

A pause. Then, slowly, Murtagh said faintly, "No, I can't. I swore to myself he would never end up on your side. I swore to myself he would never end up like…"

"Yourself?" finished Galbatorix, sneering.

A tear crept down Murtagh's cheek, and he nodded.

"Well, then, if you are to be _ungrateful_ for my hospitality, I will just have to torture you for a few more, oh, say…week?"

All three observers stifled a cry.

"_Weeks?_" gasped Roran. "Did I hear him right?"

"Yes, weeks." Guilt consumed Eragon. Murtagh was suffering all this pain…because of him.

Galbatorix grabbed Murtagh by the neck and lifted him off the ground. His apprentice choked and gasped for air, but to no avail. The master then began furiously shaking his hands, wringing the apprentice's neck until he grew limp.

"**MURTAGH!!**" cried Eragon, his vision so blurry he couldn't tell the difference between apprentice and master.

Galbatorix threw Murtagh's lifeless body onto the ground. He looked at it in disgust like filth on a dress, and then bent over towards Murtagh's corpse. "And you _won't _be getting a funeral service."

And with that, he strutted out of the dungeon smugly, knowing his genius plan had begun to blossom.

* * *

**A/N**:

Murtagh: How could you kill me? LOOK AT YOUR PENNAME FOR CORN'S SAKE. HOW COULD YOU KILL ME?!

A few more reviews and I'll update. =)

(evil cackle)


	5. Tainted Spells

**A/N**: Wow…I said "a few more reviews" and within the hour I got at least ten. Umm…I'm changing a "few" to "a few and when I have time." :) Thanks to everyone! And, uh…sorry if I ticked you…off… Okay, so here is the next chappie!

**Disclaimer**: Well, I don't own Eragon, otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I? And NO, I'm NOT married to Murtagh (sniffles)

* * *

Chapter 5: Tainted Spells

"**MURTAGH**!!" Eragon could no longer see. His cheeks were drenched and he couldn't breathe. He banged on the Invisible Wall with all of his strength.

Roran didn't know what to say to console his cousin. He had never lost a brother before; he knew if Eragon ever died that he wouldn't be able to live any longer. It was painful enough when he ran away. Steadily, he placed an arm on Eragon's shuddering shoulder. "Eragon, I-"

"D-don't s-sa-say any…thing…" Emotion filled every syllable. He continued pounding on the barrier. "**MURTAGH**!!"

"Eragon, it's useless. He's dead."

"No, he can't be dead! He just can't be!" At this point, his knees gave way and he sank to the floor. "H-he c-can't be…it would be all…my…fault…" _Saphira…Saphira, I need you._

_Eragon! Stay calm! I'm coming to get you!_

_Where are you?_

_I'm near the edge of the city, little one._

_Murtagh…he's…dead…_ He wept freely. "It's all my fault…"

Roran was speechless. "Is that how you feel? Eragon, it's not your fault! You're not responsible for his choices."

Anger flared inside Eragon like a unruly bonfire. "_What_ choices? I offered to _kill_ him myself for the gods sakes!" Now that he was deceased, Eragon couldn't believe he every considered murdering his brother. He never hated himself more in his whole life. "If it wasn't for me, he never would have gone to the Varden! He never would have been forced into this terrible service! He never would have been tortured! He's suffered all this because of me!"

Katrina was crying, but she was still confused. "Wait…h-how does Eragon come into play in this situation?"

Roran noticed she was sobbing almost as hard as Eragon and rushed back to her and swept her up in his embrace. "Did he not tell you?"

His fiancee just stared at him questioningly with tears streaking her unscratched cheeks. "No…?"

Roran sighed. "Now isn't the best time for this, honey, but I'll tell you some other time, okay?" he could tell his future wife was not satisfied with his answer, but she did not press the matter. They all turned their attention to Eragon, who was busy ramming into the invisible force again. Roran sighed. "Give it up, Eragon, its useless."

"No, look!" shouted Eragon. He pointed to the spot where Murtagh was sprawled on the floor.

Roran strained his eyes. "Something's different."

Eragon was about to explode with frustration. "I can't get to him! Look! He's _disappearing._"

Sure enough, Murtagh's once malnourished and solid form was disintegrating into thin air. He was transparent. Eragon could see the grime and pools of blood Murtagh was angled on through him. Murtagh was like a hologram. It was like only his image was in the muddy chamber, not him. Within seconds, he had completely vanished.

"No," Eragon whispered to himself. Then, he said louder, "No! Where could he have gone?" He banged on the boundary again until finally a guard entered the room. He muttered a few words and Eragon felt the magical barricade lifted around him.

The guard addressed the three of them. "King Galbatorix requests your presents in the throne room."

"And if we refuse?" growled Roran.

The guard bared his teeth. "Then you will never see Lord Murtagh again."

* * *

The throne room was cold and pitch black. Every light was turned off and Eragon's footsteps reverberated throughout the vastness of the chamber. The only reason he, Roran, and Katrina consented to meeting Galbatorix without a fight was because of Murtagh. Eragon clung to the small hope that Murtagh could still be saved.

Roran's voice echoed in the room as the guards exited through large doors. "Are you sure we're in the right place?"

A maniacal chuckle rang out. "Of course your in the right place!" The sound of snapping fingers could be heard and a single light turned. It illuminated a small section of cold marble steps. A frail figure was spread across the length of the steps. His starved arm hung freely as the rest of his form lay on his stomach.

Eragon's heart sped up. "Murtagh!" He rushed to his brother's side, but after a few steps magic locked his calves in place.

"You can be so _stupid_, boy. I've seen my apprentice's memories. You can be very impulsive. I'd watch how you act and what you say if you want your brother alive."

Eragon growled. "What do you mean 'alive?' You already killed him!"

"Oh, I wouldn't say I _killed_ him. Physically he's dead, but I cast a spell on his mind. He could be brought back to life with a little mouth-to-mouth right now."

Confusion swept Eragon. "But…he's been dead for nearly twenty minutes! I was taught that you suffer brain damage if your dead for about five. So he's been truly deceased for nearly fifteen minutes."

Galbatorix sighed. "You are so _ignorant_ of the ways of black magic, boy. Just because most people would be dead right now doesn't mean _he_ is. I cast a tainted spell over his brain. Thus, I preserved his mental state. His mind will not be lost for another hour or so. _That_ is when he is truly deceased. Until then he will just be physically dead, not mentally."

"So…Murtagh…is still alive?"

Galbatorix rolled his eyes. "You really are slow. Of course he is!"

Comprehension dawned on the young rider's face. "You set us up!"

"Obviously," continued the king conversationally. "You honestly think I would kill him just like that? No! I was planning on putting him through immense pain to prove that I was not to be trifled with. But kill him? I will only kill him in order to gain your allegiance."

"…Was Murtagh in on this?"

"No. If he was, it would not have seem so realistic. He wouldn't have spoken with such conviction. He meant ever word he said in that rathole." Galbatorix snickered. "Even the part where he was begging for mercy. It's something we go through often. I find it fun seeing him sink so low."

Roran and Katrina were watching the scene timidly. Hope had sprang up in them as they heard that Murtagh may still be alive.

Eragon glowered. "_You sadistic lunatic_."

Galbatorix strutted over to a frail Murtagh and pulled a knife out of his boot. He kneeled down and held the tip directly over Murtagh's heart. "Be careful what you say, boy," he sneered.

Eragon was red with hatred.

"Swear allegiance to me and he will live. If you don't…" he tightened his grip on the extremely sharp tool. "Well, you know what will happen if you don't."

Eragon was in the worse dilemma of his life. _Saphira! Saphira, where are you…I need you so badly…_

Galbatorix angrily shouted: "You have tree seconds to choose, boy! One, two…"

He lifted the knife preparing for the fatal blow.

"Stop!" shouted Eragon.

Glabatorix halted just as the dagger was an inch from Murtagh's chest. "Are you willing to swear yourself to me?"

"Yes..." He took a deep breath. In the ancient language he said, "I, Eragon Shadeslayer, s-swear myself t-to..."

Just then the ceiling was ripped off and gleaming blue scales were illuminated in the night sky.

* * *

**A/N**: Erm, did any of that conversation about CPR make sense? Let me know, because I have a tendency to have sentences that don't make sense in my stories. Anywho, a few more reviews (AND WHEN MY BOOK REPORTS ARE DONE) I will update!

Don't worry, I've been home all week so it should be sooner than it sounds. )


	6. The Escape

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Eragon

**A/N**: Hey, everyone! Thank-You SO much for reviewing! Okay, next chappie, as promised!

* * *

Chapter 6: The Escape

Murtagh was in a dark room with nothing but two plain wooden doors surrounding him. One door creaked open, and white light sparkled on his black lashes. As his eyes adjusted, he faltered. Someone had walked in through the door that led to no where. A beautiful woman with blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that were as exotic and beautiful as his. She smiled warmly at him.

"M-Mom?" he stuttered.

Selena cupped his cheek with her hand. "Yes, baby, it's me."

He was stunned. No one had called him 'baby' since his mother had died. "Am I dead?"

"Nearly. You will be soon if your brother doesn't wake you up in time."

"Eragon?" His ears pricked. "He's here? Wait…where are we?"

"He is in Galbatorix's castle with your body," she replied.

Instantly, fear jolted inside him. "NO! He can't be there! I promised myself he'd never get captured!"

"Some promises have to be broken, baby. You should know that better than anyone."

"Not this one. He can't go. He just can't!"

She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. "You've grown so big, Murtagh! Just yesterday I was cradling you to sleep." She closed her eyes and grinned to herself for a second at the sweet memories. "But, let us forget the past. You need to come with me now, or you will be trapped here forever." She made a motion to pull him into the door filled with glittering, heavenly light.

"But…Eragon needs me…I have to wait until I know for certain I am gone. I need to show him where the third egg is!"

To his amazement, Selena merely chuckled lightly. "Dear, even if you _were_ to live, you would be in no state to give a tour of the castle! I would be surprised if you could walk." Sadness crept in her voice. She rubbed his chest and massaged his ribs. "He has treated you so terribly, baby."

"It's okay…"

She nudged him towards the door. "Come, the clouds are magnificent today. You will love your knew home in the sky."

Murtagh stomped his foot. "I told you, I'm not dying yet, mother! I need to make sure Eragon is safe."

She gazed deep in to his eyes. "You have become so mature, dear. So strong."

Tears welled in his eyes. "Or maybe not strong enough."

Selena's face grew dark. "Look at me, Murtagh."

He averted her glassy stare. He knew what was coming.

"Murtagh Morzansson, you look at me for goodness sakes!"

He dared not disobey her this time. He had terrible experiences when he ignored Selena when her tone became authoritative.

"Baby, you were not weak for choosing life over death. You were aware that not only you would die, but Thorn would, too. And you were not a coward, Murtagh. Any man in your position would do the same."

"I'm disciple."

"You're human!" she scolded. "Do not be angry or ashamed with yourself. You were scared; you didn't know what to do. Stuff just happens you just can't control sometimes, baby, and this was one of those times."

"I betrayed them. All of them. Eragon, Ajihad, Orik, Nasuada…" he used all his willpower not to break down then and there. The shining light from within the door illuminated one single teardrop that managed to escape.

Selena wiped it away. She embraced him affectionately. "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too, mother." His voice cracked slightly from the emotion.

"Don't you love _me_, Murtagh?" came a third, playful, lower male tone.

Murtagh's head snapped up. A man was appearing through the door his mother came in. He had gray hair and a few laugh lines on his face. He smiled deviously.

"Tornac!" shouted Murtagh, overjoyed to see his old friend. "Bloody hell, Tornac, I thought I'd never see you again!" He ran up and hugged his old master.

"Same here! Been a while," commented Tornac. "How have you been?"

Murtagh glared at him.

"Okay, stupid question." He contemplated his old pupil's chest. "Your _skinny,_ boy. Damn!"

Murtagh, surprisingly, laughed. "Yeah, I know. Old Crackpot has been making me so miserable lately I haven't stomached much." 'Old Crackpot' was the name they used when referring to the king. It was their little inside joke.

"What mayhem has he been up to anyway?"

"Oh, you know," replied Murtagh conversationally. "The usual."

Tornac sighed. "I've been trying to tell you, Price tag, the. Man. Is. Cracked."

Murtagh rolled his eyes. "No, duh."

Tornac sniggered, then his face grew sober. "Murtagh, you have to come with us to the other side of the door before…"

"Before _what?_"

"Before _I_ come," cackled a fourth voice. The door on the opposite side of him burst open. Flames and heat erupted from within the portal, as if inside was an eternal forest fire. A man strutted out of the embers, and Murtagh found himself gazing into…his own face?

_Wait…no…_Fear erupted in Murtagh. _Morzan._

Tornac growled and firmly placed himself between Murtagh and Morzan. "Get away. He's coming with us."

Selena wrapped her arms protectively around her son. "_Stay away from him_."

Murtagh was frozen. He imagined everything he ever would have said to his father if they ever met again, but now all he wanted to do was run. He never wanted to see that handsome yet fierce face, _his_ face, ever again.

Morzan directed his attention to his offspring. "My, look at you. the spinning image of me in every aspect. Physically, you have the same skills, you have the same _job_. Hey, you even have the same reputation!"

Murtagh clenched his fists. "I am not you."

"Oh, yes you are," said his father matter-of-factly.

The words stung the nineteen year-old. Yes, he believed he was his father's son, but to have it said so bluntly by the man he hated most was just heartbreaking.

"He is _not_," barked Selena and Tornac in unison.

"He isn't?" asked Morzan in mock confusion.

"Just leave," said Murtagh angrily.

Morzan turned his back to the other three and stuck his hand inside the door. His arm was shrouded in flames that would have eaten it up with third degree burns in the real world. He pulled his hand back out, except he was holding a glowing red arrow with a rope tied to it, and a bow. He nocked the arrow and aimed for Murtagh's heart. "Fine. If you won't come, I'll take you by force."

Before anyone realized what was happening, Morzan shot the arrow. It went straight in between Selena and Tornac. Just as it was about to hit Murtagh square in the chest, it halted. Then, it wrapped its cord around the teenager several times. Before he knew it, he was binded by the ankles, hands, waist, neck, and gagged.

Murtagh gave a muffled yell of worry.

"Murtagh!" cried Selena. She launched herself at her son and began tugging at the leather that chafed against his throat.

"MORZAN!" Tornac drew his sword and lunged at the manic dragon rider. All the anger he had felt towards the man ever since the day he first laid eyes on Murtagh's scar was unleashed. He slashed and would have critically damaged Morzan, but the weapon went right through him.

"We're dead, remember? You cannot touch me. I _can_ take Murtagh because, as you said, he's not entirely dead." With a lazy flick of his wrist, his son flew across the room and landed lying on his back at his feet. Morzan laughed. "Only Eragon can help you now, boy. And I doubt he's in any condition to give you assistance at the moment."

Morzan cracked such a crazed smile, Murtagh shivered. _Eragon, please help._

* * *

For a split second, Eragon's full attention was on his dragon. _Oh, Thank-You, Saphira! Quick, distract the king!_

_Yes, little one._ His dragon felt so relieved to see he was still breathing.

He waited as Saphira's teeth ripped at Galbatorix's throne room. She then thundered down to the floor. The ground shook like an earthquake and she landed. She launched at the king, growling wildly.

Galbatorix was too busy occupied with Saphira, that for a moment he forgot about his apprentice. His head flicked up to watch the blue dragon attacking him.

This was just enough time for Eragon to snatch his brother. He dove to Murtagh's position on the stairs and grasped his limp form. _He's so cold._

It was extremely easy to carry him. He didn't think he had ever lifted someone so light before. Murtagh's bruises were accentuated in the dim night sky. They shimmered like dark craters on his feeble body.

"**RUN!!**" Eragon yelled over the crashing.

Roran and Katrina bolted for the door, as did Eragon with Murtagh's body.

Galbatorix noticed they were making an exit and shouted, "**GAURDS, GET THEM!**" He then went back to taming the dragon.

Two soldiers came and aimed their spears at Eragon, Roran, and Katrina.

Eragon muttered a few words, and they instantly dropped dead. An alarm sounded. Eragon cursed. "Damn! We'll have men in every nook and cranny attacking us!" As if on cue, twelve soldiers entered the hallway they were speeding down. Eragon could have easily could have outrun them with his elven talents, but he needed to wait for Roran and his fiancee. "This way!" They ran down a corridor with torches and expensive marble floors. Many doors lay on either side of them. Impulsively, they dashed in side of the rooms and locked the door. They then, using magic, lifted all the furniture in what Eragon assumed was a bedroom in front of the entrance.

Roran and Katrina gasped for breath. "We-need-to-get-out-of-here," huffed Roran.

Eragon was not even breathing hard. "First I need to wake him up!"

"Eragon! Can't that wait? We have more pressing matters!" snapped Katrina.

"He'll die if we don't do it now! Besides, he could walk around this place with his eyes closed. He'll help us get out." He gently placed Murtagh on the floor and placed his hands on his chest. Now, if only he could remember how to do this…

One, two, three. He pounded on Murtagh's chest. He parted his brothers mouth and blew hot air into Murtagh's lungs.

One, two, three.

He filled Murtagh's chest with his breath again.

One, two, three.

Guards were pounding on the door. "Open up!" they shouted.

"Eragon!" Katrina said weakly. "Please, hurry…"

One, two, three.

………

One, two, three.

………

One, two, three.

………

One, two, three.

………

"**ERAGON!!**"

One, two, three.

………

Just when Eragon was about to give up hope and ditch the room before the soldiers caught them, Murtagh coughed and sputtered. He inhaled as if he never thought air could taste so sweet.

Everyone sighed in relief. "Oh, Murtagh, you're alive!" rejoiced Eragon.

Murtagh moaned. "W-what's going on? Where is Thorn?" he asked hoarsely.

As they hustled out of the room, Eragon explained their situation to his brother. He was still carrying Murtagh because he was too weak to walk.

Quietly, Murtagh gave them directions to the treasury.

"Why would we go there?" asked Eragon.

"Third…egg…treasury…go…then to…dragon's…hold…"

_Of course,_ thought Eragon. _The third egg._ He signaled Saphira. _Saphira! Come get Roran, and Katrina! Take them somewhere safe! Murtagh and I will ride Thorn!_ He gave her a mental image of where they were. Within five minutes, the large sapphire reptile was crouching in front of her rider as two of four captives climbed onto her back.

"Go," he told Roran. "I could outrun anyone here. Murtagh and I will be fine."

Roran did not was to put his future wife in any more danger, so he flew off with Saphira into the night.

Eragon glanced down at his brother, who began coughing horribly. "You all right?"

Murtagh nodded and let his head loll onto Eragon's arm. After killing several men, the two reached their destination of the treasury. Eragon killed the guards with a flick of his wrist. He entered the treasury. Almost instantly, Eragon found the green egg. It was absolutely stunning. He snatched it up. "Can you hold this?" He asked his brother.

Murtagh raised his trembling arms and took the egg. He held it against his chest like a child would hold a teddy bear. He then faintly gave Eragon directions to the dragon hold.

To their surprise, they didn't run into anybody. Suspicion stirred in Eragon.

When they arrived to the dragon hold, Thorn was in hysterics. _WHAT HAPPENED TO MY RIDER?!_ He snapped savagely at Eragon.

_Calm down, I'll explain everything once we are out of here._ He untied Thorn and saddled himself in. Fearful his brother would fall to his death, he gripped Murtagh so hard he left bruises.

As they were about to lift off, Shruikan emitted fire in their direction.

_Blasted! I forgot about Shruikan!_ Even though he didn't want to, Eragon sucked almost all the remaining life in Murtagh and sapped much of Shruikan's life force. With almost all his power, Eragon stuck up a protective force field. However, he was so tired it only lasted until they left the dragon's hold.

Thorn sprung into the sky. Archers took aim and several burning arrows stabbed into Thorn's side. He howled as the many piercing arrows mutilated his thigh.

Murtagh groaned as he felt Thorn's pain. However, they continued to swoop onward in the sky. Eragon muttered the killing words, and before long they were as far away as possible from Uru'baen. They met up with Saphira and the other two the next morning.

Only then in the daylight, after Eragon and the others recuperated, did Eragon understand the full extent of his dragon's and brother's wounds.

* * *

_Okay, tell us what happened in the throne room after we left,_ Eragon said to Saphira, though he let his thoughts project to Katrina and Roran. He had just healed terrible, sickening, gory wounds on her and tended to the minor ones on Thorn. Murtagh had passed out on a fleece blanket. They were in a lush clearing some miles away from Uru'baen.

_Oh, nothing really. He got a few lucky shots,_ she spoke to all three people.

Katrina gasped. "She talks!"

Eragon laughed. "Yeah. Listen to what she has to say."

She now had their full attention. _Galbatorix is not so strong without his dragon. If not for Shruikan, he would have been killed in a Varden attack years ago. He tries to but did not succeed very well to use magic against me, but he couldn't focus. Because of you four, I presume._ Her eyes trailed to Murtagh's slowly rising and falling chest.

"Then what happened?" asked Roran.

_Well, naturally, I destroyed his throne room beyond repair._

Everyone chuckled. "Is that it?" inquired Katrina.

_Yes. Like I said, he is not so strong without Shruikan. And he was at the dragon hold, waiting for Eragon and Murtagh to show up._

At Murtagh's name, all four tilted their heads back in his direction. They watched him sleep fir a few moments, disbelief coursing through them. So much had happened the past few days, that it was hard to _not_ stare at their newest family member.

"You know," commented Eragon casually. "He would not like you staring at him. Though, I suppose he wouldn't mention his discomfort. He's used to glares."

Katrina, still confused, asked, "Why is he used to them? How do you know them? And _why did Galbatorix say he was your brother_?"

Roran and Eragon exchanged glances. "Go tell her while I tend to his wounds," stated Eragon.

Roran pulled his fiancee and away. "Let's take a walk in the forest, shall we?" The disappeared into the trees.

Eragon's full attention was on his brother. They had placed a thick blanket on him to keep him out of the cold until they bought some new clothes for him. He gently tugged the blanket back.

Every section of his brother's stomach was covered in bruises. They were white, black, blue, purple, pink, variations of colors Eragon didn't think could exist in injuries. He gently placed his hands on Murtagh's neck. The bruises from where Galbatorix had strangled him were already formed and as fresh as every other wound on his body. He examined the face next. He gasped in horror as he felt that hunks of his jawbone were missing. Murtagh had a black eye and a deep gash on his forehead. His nose seemed odd. When Eragon felt it, he snatched his hand away in pure alarm. His bone in his nose and been crushed to powder. His arms were no better. Cuts ran all up his wrists. They looked formed by a knife.

_Those ones are self inflicted,_ commented Thorn.

Eragon had completely forgot he was there. It surprised him when Thorn addressed him directly. It was as if the dragon held some kind of grudge towards him. _Probably something to do with how Murtagh's life ended up. _"Self inflicted? Why would he hurt himself!"

_Helps him cope with his problems. Don't worry, they are old cuts. He stopped a few months ago, realizing they didn't take the pain away, but it only made it worse. All you see are scabs. He never cut deep enough to leave scars, so if you mend them, no one will ever have to know._

"Waise heill," chanted Eragon. Instantly, the cuts and bruises disappeared, leaving a few scars along Murtagh's stomach. His jawbone fixed itself. He examined his brother's arms. Thorn was right. Not a scratch.

He turned Murtagh over. As he expected, at least two hundred whip marks intersected on Murtagh's back. The areas that were not caked with blood were black and blue. His calves and regions of thigh not covered in clothes were no better.

"Waise Heill."

Murtagh was undamaged.. He appeared as good as new.

Except…

Eragon could see the Murtagh's bones. He still had meat on him, but hardly any. Eragon pushed his brother back to his original position and began counting how many ribs he could see. _One, two, three, four…_ in the end, nine of Murtagh's ribs were visible. Almost all were broken. Eragon muttered the healing words; in and instant every one of Murtagh's bones were mended. Eragon smiled to himself, yet there was a sadness inside him. "What has he done to you? You look like a beggar."

_The weak appearance is not the king's fault. Or perhaps it is. But Murtagh has not been eating, though food is regularly delivered to us._

"Why?"

_Because. He attempts to eat. He is so miserable that he is so sick to his stomach. After about fifteen minutes, he vomits his food back up._

Eragon shivered. "I didn't know depression made you puke."

_I don't think it does. It does make you nauseous, which can _lead_ to retching._

Eragon took all this in. He stared at the feeble figure before him. He couldn't believe just a few days ago he hated the man's guts. "He didn't seem so tiny on the Burning Plains. He looked healthy and strong to me."

_Armor can be deceiving._

"Very true. But how could he fight with such power?"

Pride welled up in Thorn. _He may be small, but he is certainly not weak when it comes to battle. Not until the king threw him in the dungeon did it occur to me how feeble he truly is. That was when his frail appearance took its toll. Because he was so slim, beatings were twice as hard, and he had twice as little energy. But, until he was throne in the torture chambers, his strength never failed to meet his needs._

Guilt surged upon Eragon like a tumbling waterfall. He decided to respond to Thorn mentally. _I've been a terrible brother._

_He feels the same way._

_Yes, but it wasn't his fault._

_Does that ever stop you humans from blaming yourselves?_

_No…_

_He loves you, Eragon. You were a good friend to him. He's tried everything to keep you safe._

_And yet up until I saw him be strangled I wished he were dead._

_Ah, yes. He expected you to feel that way. He understands. He was very cruel on the Burning Plains. But, then, so were you. You stung him, Eragon. You hit him hard._

He remembered the argument they had. _**I don't have the scar on my back anymore.** _He was so upset with himself. _Gods, Thorn! I've been horrible! He probably has been staying at the castle protecting me from Galbatorix for months._

_If you mean he's been keeping an eye on the king's actions, yes, he's been protecting you. But you would do the same in his position._

For some odd reason, the old anger he felt towards his brother boiled inside him again. _He betrayed me! Do you have any idea how sad we all felt the day he left?_

_And yet you didn't search for him._

_I sent Arya after him! I was too weary and would have collapsed before I found him!_

_I doubt that would have stopped Murtagh. He would have pursued you until he passed out from exhaustion. It angers me. _**You**_ anger me. Oh, if you have seen how he has suffered because of you…_ Thorn growled.

Eragon's anger washed away, replaced with shame again. He wondered if he could ever reconcile with Thorn. _What's going on, Thorn? Why can't I keep my emotions straight?_

_Maybe, young one, you are too confused. Sleep on it. Talk to him in the morning. He will listen. I'll force him._ With that, Thorn nestled his head beside his rider and fell into a deep slumber, their breathing in time with each others.

Eragon laid down own the opposite side of Murtagh and covered his hands in his face. _Gods, I'm so confused…_

* * *

**A/N**: (head pounds) so sorry if that was lame! Owe…stupid head! (sorry, I have a BAD headache) Anyway, I tried to make it good! Though I think there is a lot of pointless conversation in here, but I tried to get a important concept across with the Thorn/Eragon talk. Oh, well…Lemme know how I did! PLEASE **R&R**!! Remember, they keep me typing!! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I wouldn't keep this up of it wasn't for you!


	7. Confessions and Chains

**A/N**: Hey, thanks, everyone! And to all you fanfiction haters out there who think I "sound like an idiot in real life," who sent me reviews about how childish and retarded I am, please know that I don't give a crap about what you people think!

For those of you whose opinions I **DO** care about (A.K.A my awesome reviewers that actually read my stuff instead of just calling me a moron), check out my profile and take the poll at the top. **PLEASE, I NEED YOU TO TAKE THE POLL ON MY PROFILE PAGE!! IT'S A MATTER OF URGENCY!! PLEASE!!** You don't HAVE to, but it would REALLY help me. Anywho, here is the next chappie! :) Props to my friend Theresa for Murtagh's ankle bracelet! Thanks for giving me the idea! Note: **NOT SLASH**

**Disclaimer: **I do NOT own Eragon, OR Murtie!

* * *

Chapter 7: Confessions and Chains

Katrina and Roran returned awhile later. Katrina gave Murtagh a curious look. She analyzed him and Eragon. "You have the same mouth. And skin tone. And hair." She lifted Murtagh's arm. "And hands."

Eragon chuckled. "Yes, it's surprising no one ever made the connection between us before the twins." He was surprised how well Katrina was taking the fact Murtagh was Roran's cousin.

Katrina turned towards her fiancee. "Murtagh's invited to the wedding, right?"

Roran smiled. "Of course he is! Right, Eragon?"

"Of course," he replied. He turned his attention back to Murtagh, who began stirring.

Murtagh sniffed. He yawned and stretched his newly mended limbs. "What happened?" he asked. His body was covered by the thickest spread Roran and Eragon had packed. Eragon had tried to protect every inch of Murtagh's exposed bare skin from the cold.

Eragon filled him in on everything that occurred after he passed out on the fleece blanket.

Murtagh nodded. "Thanks for healing me." His voice was a great deal stronger than it was earlier.

"No problem," answered his brother. "Are you okay? You were _really_ banged up."

Murtagh laughed wholeheartedly. It was the first time in what seemed like centuries Eragon had heard that giggle come from him. "I'm fine, Eragon. I was only in the dungeons a few days." He itched his mosquito bites absentmindedly. "I was lucky you came and shortened my punishment." He smiled sweetly. He didn't comment on how he was a regular down in the dungeons, or that he has suffered longer than _a few days_ before.

"We really should free them someday," said Roran thoughtfully. "All those prisoners deserve a little sunlight."

Eragon made eye contact with Thorn, who nodded in a, "I'll-make-sure-he-listens" kind of way. He turned back to Murtagh. "Can I talk to you for a second…._alone_?"

Murtagh arched an eyebrow. "Sure, Eragon. Do you have anything I could change into first?"

Eragon scurried over to the supplies and pulled out an extra brown shirt and white tunic. "Here," he said, tossing the clothes to Murtagh. "It might clash with the remainder of your pants, but we'll buy you new clothes when we reach the next town."

Murtagh slipped in the baggy outfit and sprung to his feet. He tested his legs only to find out they worked great. "I feel better now that I'm healed."

A dark, foreboding feeling slithered into Eragon as his brother said this. He didn't know why. He ignored it and waved his hand, indicating Murtagh to follow. They wove their way through the forest. Once a curious Roran and Katrina were out of sight, Eragon launched into the conversation he'd been dwelling on all day.

"Murtagh I'm sorry…for thinking you were like Morzan and…I'm sorry for…hating you…and…" This wasn't coming out right.

"It's okay, Eragon. I'm sorry I was so cruel to you on the plains. I'm sorry for taking the sword. It wasn't my place. Besides, in a certain sense, because I took the sword I kind of became…Morzan…" The discussion was getting more awkward with every syllable.

"You're not Morzan, Murtagh, no matter what you say," shot Eragon darkly.

Murtagh stared at the ground and shuffled his feet. Then, he said quietly, "No, Eragon…I've become…my father…he even told me so…"

Eragon gazed at him questioningly. "Who told you so?"

"…You would think I'm crazy if I told you."

"Try me."

Murtagh continued analyzing the dirt. "…Morzan did…"

Eragon didn't know what to say. He gazed at Murtagh with a "are-you-insane" look. "Murtagh, Morzan's dead."

"I know, but…I talked to him. I met him and Tornac and mother. You know…after I sort of died? I was in this weird blackness and all that was there were two doors, Selena, Tornac, and Morzan. Tornac and mother came through one door, Morzan came through the other. It was so strange." He shivered and tried desperately not to look shaken. He told Eragon his story up until Morzan came. "Then…" He shuddered.

"Then what?" pressed Eragon. For some reason, Murtagh's story was scaring him. Maybe his brother really _had_ gone mad.

"Then…Morzan tried to get me to walk back through the door he came through with him. The door was filled with flames, Eragon. I could feel the scorching heat on my face. And then I said I wouldn't go with him and he…" Murtagh was trembling now. As he thought back on it, he realized how close he was to being perpetually tortured beside his father. He took a steady breath and continued. "He took a bewitched rope and tied me up. He snapped his fingers and I was lying on my back at his feet…J-Just when he was about to throw me into to flames…you brought me back…I have never been so scared in my life, Eragon…I felt like…like…I can't even describe how I feel around him. He's the one person that scares me more than the king…" He began tearing a little. He wiped his cheeks and blushed. "Sorry. It's stupid, I know."

"No, it's not," said Eragon quietly. Was Murtagh talking about an afterlife? _No, afterlife isn't real._"You shouldn't think it's stupid. Murtagh, that could have been important. Maybe it was dream. Maybe it wasn't. But don't worry. You're safe now." He put an arm on his brother's shoulder. Just searching Murtagh's eyes, he could tell his brother had not gone mad. Something inside Eragon told him Murtagh was not crazy. "And you're nothing like him, despite what he says. Don't listen to him. You know what Morzan reminds me of when you talk about him?"

"What?" inquired Murtagh, genuinely curious.

"The little voice inside our heads that constantly puts us down. Morzan is your little voice. Ignore it. Don't let it define you. You're better than him. You're _not_ him. He was trying to mess with your brain, trying to make you feel even worse about yourself."

Murtagh looked at him. "But didn't you say you hated me? You once told me I became our father. And I believed you. You're right. I'm despicable and I should have just let you kill me."

Eragon did nothing but glare at him for a few moments while he secretly felt even guiltier.

"Well, say something!" spat Murtagh into the uncomfortable silence. Then…

_Smack._Eragon unexpectedly slapped Murtagh across the face angrily.

"What the hell!" shouted Murtagh, rubbing the side of his jaw. "Control your mood swings, Eragon!"

"**Don't. You. **_**Ever**_**. Say. You're. Morzan. Again.**Understand?" breathed Eragon between clenched teeth.

"…It's true…you even said so yourself…"

Eragon's mood changed _again_and averted Murtagh's eyes. "I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't know. I just was so angry and hurt. I didn't know your true feeling on the matter. You seemed so happy on the other side. I don't know…I felt like…maybe we weren't ever friends…I wanted to make you suffer a little…I guess." He didn't know what to say, how to spit out his emotions. His vision became blurry. Suddenly, everything spilled over. "I'm so sorry, Murtagh! Forgive me, I've been the worst brother in history! I _hated_ you. I wanted you dead. I truly thought you were like our father! You broke my heart! I misjudged you and all it did was hurt me. I've told myself so many times since the Burning Plains that you were my enemy just so I could believe it. I actually began thinking of you like you were some kind of enemy whose only intentions were to cause pain in cold blood. You suffered all that torture at the king's hands because of me and…and…" he couldn't put his guilt in words. He realized he was on his knees. He was no longer apologizing. He was _groveling._

Murtagh bent down next to him and wiped away his tears. "It's okay, Eragon. I forgive you. It's not your fault. Stuff just happens that is out of our control. This is one of those times. What's done is done. Forget it and move on. I forgive you. We're on good terms again. Forgive me for acting like a crazed ass on the Burning Plains?"

Eragon half laughed, half cried at Murtagh's words. He was so happy to get the weight of shame off his chest. It no longer crushed down on him. "Yeah, it's all right." He exchanged a relived smile with Murtagh.

"Can we just forget everything that happened since I 'died' many months ago?" asked Murtagh.

"Sure," replied a profoundly overjoyed Eragon. "Whatever you say." He noticed a thick, heavy iron chain wrapped around Murtagh's right ankle like a bracelet. He pointed it out to his brother.

"Oh, that?" Color rushed to Murtagh's face. "Yes, I know it's unfashionable. It's a…sign of…slavery. All of Galbatorix's unwilling servants have them. It shows that we are his property…Just sort of our…dog tags. Kind of tells people where to return us if we are ever…missing…Everyone in Uru'baen knows that if someone is wearing one of these chains around their ankles, you need to bring them to Galbatorix. The price for hiding someone with one of these on is death, so naturally we tend to…be caught…when we escape." His face fell and he avoided Eragon's eyes.

"No need to be embarrassed, Murtagh," he said gently. Truthfully, he was desperately trying to conceal his feeling horror inside. "Does it ever hurt you? I mean…the chain…"

"No," Murtagh responded quickly. "Well, besides when they first put it on. They stuck it on me while it was still red hot, so it left burn marks on my skin. But other than that, it just feels like a particularly heavy piece of jewelry. Nothing to worry about. What I would be nervous about is the king knowing my true name. He could summon me back anytime he wants." He gave Eragon a crooked yet sad smile.

Eragon's heart sank. He hadn't thought of that. "What do you think we should do?"

"Well, besides the obvious, we could find a way around my oaths, though I don't know how I could do that…"

Eragon pondered for a moment. An idea struck him. "Saphira said the king is rather weak without Shruikan."

"Yes…?"

"Well, magic is affected by distance, right? The closer you are the less strength it takes?"

"…Yes?"

"What if we take you to Aberon and you stay in Surda with Nasuada and King Orrin?"

At the thought of staying with Nasuada, Murtagh's insides flared with curiosity. "How is she nowadays anyway?"

"Well, she's not dead."

Murtagh snorted. "That's always a plus."

"But she's sad. She misses you and Ajihad. I take it you two were good friends?"

Murtagh nodded. "Yeah, we were. How did she take Ajihad's dying?"

Eragon sighed. "She was strong; she had duties to fulfill."

Murtagh remembered the day he was kidnapped. The day his life became an even bigger twisted mess that it already was. He had seen Ajihad be stabbed. He tried to save him, but two Urgals had held back his arms. He recalled screaming the Varden leader's name, desperately attempting to go to his aid, only to be forcibly retained by those monsters Galbatorix once had an allegiance with. He smirked smugly with satisfaction as he thought of the look on the king's face when a soldier informed him of the Urgal's treaty with the Varden.

He returned his attention to Eragon. "Back to the Surda thing. We could give it a try, but I wouldn't be able to fight inside the country. I'd be stuck in Surda, the farthest place from the king, no?"

Eragon said, "Yes, you probably would, but only until the king died, then you would be free to roam."

Murtagh sighed. "It sounds a lot like I'm being locked up again."

Eragon's face darkened. "No, don't think of it like that. Think of it as a road to freedom."

Murtagh was silent for a moment. Then, he huffed and said, "_Fine_. But if I get stuck picking sand out of my eyes for the next twenty years I'll kill you."

Eragon laughed. "Deal."

Murtagh and him walked back to camp together, laughing like old times, catching up, and chatting about Eragon's elf ears.

Murtagh scratched his mosquito bites like a mad man. "You would think when you healed me, my bites would go away, too. Aren't mosquito bites mini infections or something like that? You think they would go away…" He glared at the bites on his forearms irritably, his teeth bared menacingly.

"Aren't you happy I healed all those cuts on your wrists you inflicted on yourself? You've been itching so much you would have reopened the scabs," said Eragon teasingly.

Murtagh halted. His heart skipped a beat. "How do you know about those?"

"Thorn told me. Look, I've been meaning to mention that…" Eragon didn't even know why he cared about the slits that used to trail Murtagh's arms. _Thorn said he quit a few months ago, right?_

"Forget about them. It was stupid; I stopped; it's over; I've moved on. No need to give me the, 'What were you thinking?' talk. I've had enough of _that_ lecture for one lifetime." Murtagh's tone indicated the conversation was over.

Eragon didn't want to start a fight. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

Murtagh shrugged and cracked a grin. "It's okay. Just don't tell anyone."

"Will do."

The two brothers entered camp again to see Katrina in hysterics because of some joke Roran was telling.

"Woah," commented Murtagh. "Either you're really hyper, or it was just a funny joke."

Katrina eventually caught her breath and rushed up to Murtagh. "Hey! You were the guy who healed me back in Helgrind." She gave him a quick thank-you kiss on the cheek.

Murtagh beamed. "Nice of you to remember me."

Katrina chuckled softly. "It's great to see you've recovered!"

"Yeah, it's wonderful feeling this fresh air without Galbatorix beside you. I haven't felt so happy or healthy in a long time!" he raved.

Everyone was joyous to see Murtagh's old self back.

Little did anyone know how short-lived his good health would be.

* * *

**A/N**: Wow! Two chapters in three days! Hoo Ha! I'm being nice to you all! I wanted to get Murtagh and Eragon some real bonding time. Let me know what you thought of it, what I have to work on, the usual. **R&R please**! For those of you wondering, Nasuada will come back in soon, I promise. It will be how I think their relationship would have come on, not some "first-sight-I-love-you-lets-elope-even-though-our-fathers-hated-each-other" kind of stuff. Just to clear that up. Lol **:D**

"Road to freedom?" Haha. When I reread that the first thing that came to mind was, "_corny!_" LOL. Sorry, just had to comment on that…(snickers)

**R&R, Y'ALL!**


	8. Delusions

**A/N**: Hey, y'all! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Okay, as promised, here's the next chappie! And don't forget to check out the poll on my profile! It has to do with who Eragon ends up with…Oh, by the way, I believe this chapter is, like, 94.9999999 ooc, but there IS a reason for so much ooc, so forgive me. The ooc chapter will pass.

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Eragon.

* * *

Chapter 8: Delusions

"I like him," declared Roran. "He'll make a fine cousin."

Eragon laughed. "Sure he will. As long as the Varden don't execute him." it had been nearly four days since they escaped Uru'baen and they were in no hurry to return to Surda. They spent the better part of the day simply taking walks and enjoying the fresh air and joking around with Murtagh and Katrina. The sky was a clear blue with the sun directly above their heads.

"You laugh when talking about your brothers possible death penalty?"

"No, I don't," stated Eragon. "He just has good connections. Him and Nasuada were close. If she finds it in her heart to trust him again, I doubt they'll kill him. she won't let it happen."

Roran was particularly hungry for gossip that day due to his good mood. "How close _were_ they? Like, _history_ close, or just really good friends?"

"Just really good friends."

Roran seemed disappointed with Eragon's answer.

Just then, Katrina walked over towards them. They were in another clearing some miles near the Ram'r river. Saphira was unsaddled and flying somewhere with Thorn, bonding.

"Hey," she said cheerfully. Murtagh's good mood seemed to radiate off him to everyone else. She kissed her fiancee and embraced him lovingly. "Have you seen Murtagh?"

Eragon thought for a moment. "He hurried off into the woods a while ago. He looked like he was dwelling about something."

* * *

Murtagh instantly knew something was wrong when the nausea came back. He had been so joyous the past couple of days that he could actually stomach food. When he felt the queasiness return he quickly jogged into the forest saying he needed some "alone time." He didn't want his traveling companions to know something was the matter. They were all as happy as he had been lately-he didn't want to spoil it.

He sat down at the base of a thick, mossy tree. For some odd reason he felt exhausted. His back hurt. His muscled ached. His mosquito bites itched worse than ever before. _Thorn, I don't feel so good._

_You never feel good,_ chided Thorn.

_Yes, but this is different. I'm not depressed, but I still feel sick!_

_Hmmm…_his dragon pondered for a moment. _Maybe you really are coming down with the flu or something._

_Maybe,_ he agreed. His head spun. His vision swam in front of him and he couldn't think straight. He could tell he was getting a migraine. He tried to stand up, only to sit back down and whimper as he grabbed his head.

Damn, he was in so much pain! And it came so quickly, too. It felt like someone had suddenly taken a hammer and chisel and began ramming it into his skull!

His brain continued to pound until all he could hear was the irregular beating of his heart. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying desperately hard not to scream. _Thorn…my skull…_He attempted to reach his dragon, but his head hurt too much. _Maybe if I just go to sleep here it will feel better when I wake up._ He was so exhausted all of sudden. The tiredness came almost as unexpected and fast as the raging headache. He figured it would be best to let his friends know where he was, but his eyes drooped. _I'll tell them where I am when I wake up,_ he reasoned with himself. He yawned. Had he ever been so sleepy before? He curled up in a ball at the base of the tall tree and passed out within minutes.

* * *

Thorn and Saphira swooped down and landed with two loud _thuds_ in the small clearing where they set up camp for the night.

_We can't find him anywhere,_ projected a fretful Thorn to Saphira, Katrina, Roran, and Eragon. _I can't reach him either, which must mean he's unconscious._

All three humans exchanged fearful glances. Murtagh had been missing for nearly six hours. The sky was orange and pink now and the sun was about to set.

"We have to find him! Where could he possibly be? What could have happened to him?" asked Katrina anxiously. "We've all been searching for hours! He can't have gone too far."

"Aye," agreed Roran. "We just haven't dug deep enough."

"Well, Thorn's here, so he's not dead," interjected Eragon optimistically. "We'll just have to wait until he contacts his dragon to go get him. It's dark, and you two need your sleep. I'll keep searching for him. I see well at night."

After much protest, Eragon convinced Katrina and Roran to go to bed. Once they were asleep, Eragon and Thorn headed back into the forest again. Saphira kept watch over his cousin and his fiancee.

_Are you still mad at me?_ Asked Eragon, looking up in the sky to see Thorn flying above the treetops.

…_No. Murtagh thinks you're all right, and he finally convinced me. I hold no grudge._

_I'm sorry._

_Murtagh is sick of hearing your apologies. He thinks they are unnecessary._

Eragon was silent. He didn't want to start a fight, so he kept his opinions to himself.

They continued through the forest until Thorn spoke to him again. _This is the spot Saphira and I headed back to camp._

It was nowhere special, merely another part of the land that appeared identical to the rest of the region. Eragon jogged a little ways, scanning the areas no one had scoured yet. He spent what must have been hours just lurking in the darkness, praying to all the gods he didn't believe in to help him find his brother. Just then, Thorn breached his mind.

_Eragon! He's a little ways to your left by a large tree! He's awake! I just talked to him!_

Eragon ran in the direction Thorn mentioned with inhuman speed. He halted as his keen ears heard a low moaning. "MURTAGH?" He rushed to the noise to find his brother sprawled up under a tree. He immediately bent down next to him and copiously shook him. "Murtagh, it's Eragon!"

Murtagh looked at him, dazed. He grinned sleepily. "What's up? I was just resting."

"Resting! Resting my ass! Murtagh, you've been gone for hours. Do you realize that you were scaring us all to death?" Eragon barked.

Murtagh's expression changed to something similar to shame. "I'm sorry," he said halfheartedly.

Eragon couldn't stay mad, not with all the relief flooding him at the moment.. He sighed. "Can you get up?"

Murtagh yawned groggily. "Yupp." Eragon helped him stand, but a few seconds later he collapsed and closed his eyes.

"Sorry, Eragon," he muttered. "I think I'll just…sleep here tonight."

Eragon placed a hand on his brother's forehead. It was sweaty and hot. "Gods, you're burning up, Murtagh!"

"No I'm not," protested Murtagh weakly. "Now lemme go to bed…" he began getting confused as to where he was. "Where are we anyway? I can't find my blankets…"

"We're in the middle of a forest and you're under a tree. You're sick and we need to take you back to camp!"

"Will you go get me a blanket?"

"No!"

"Please?"

"You can come back to camp and get a blanket _then_."

"But I'm cold! Get me a blanket _now_!" he folded his arms and puckered his lips angrily while kicking the ground like a toddler.

"Murtagh, you're acting like you're five."

"I'm nineteen. Not five, silly! Now go get me a blanket," he persisted.

Eragon was beginning to get worried. He placed his palm on his brother's forehead again. "Murtagh," he said anxiously. "_Please._ We need to get you back to camp."

"We made camp? Why would we make camp in a living room?" Murtagh laughed with a tint of craziness in his voice. It startled Eragon-it was the same manic chuckle he heard on the Burning Plains. "You're so hilarious, Eragon. Making camp in my living room. Ha!" He kept his eyes shut and yawned again. "Will you _please_ go get me a blanket?"

"Murtagh, we need to get you back. You're sick."

Murtagh began coughing. It sounded like he was trying to hack up his intestines. He shivered and gasped for air. After a few moments he said, "Oh, shut up, brother. I'm not sick. Now _please_ go get me a blanket? There should be one downstairs in the den. Morzan's probably down there. Watch out when you go. Though he's probably passed out because of all that beer by now…"

Eragon took a step back during this statement. He was seriously scared for his brother. "Murtagh, you _need _to come with me. You're really sick! You're hallucinating!"

Murtagh smiled. "Naw, I'm not hallucinating! You're Eragon, my brother, and we're at Morzan's castle where I grew up. We _all_ know that," he said with a "no-duh" tone.

"Murtagh, if I have to _drag_ you back to camp I will, but _you're going back with me._"

"I don't wanna! I'm staying here. _Now go get me a blanket!_" His yawned again. He appeared so thin and weak to Eragon that for a moment he seemed more like a tiny child than a grown man.

_That's IT!_ thought Eragon. He grabbed Murtagh and began carrying him back to the encampment.

Murtagh's mouth and limbs started moving furiously. "Put me down! Why did you pull me off the couch? Where are you taking me-HEY!" His arms and legs instantly stopped flailing.

Eragon had placed a spell on his brother to prevent him from moving. "Please, Murtagh, just calm down. I won't hurt you. But you have to be quiet otherwise…" he thought for a moment, trying to find something to calm down his brother. "Otherwise Morzan will wake up. And we don't want _that_, do we?"

Murtagh stared at his brother like a wide-eyed three-year old. He shook his head terrified and yawned yet again. "No…we don't…that would be bad." He shivered anew followed by another terrible coughing fit.

Eragon looked at his brother, guilty because of the timid expression he wore. _I shouldn't have mentioned Morzan. But, at least it got him to quiet himself._

"Please," whispered Murtagh quietly, thinking that if he spoke too loud he'd wake up his father. "Can you get me a blanket? I don't remember ever being so cold…" Chills shot down his spine. Sweat drenched his dark bangs.

"It's okay. We'll get you a blanket in a moment," replied Eragon, matching Murtagh's hushed voice.

Murtagh groaned and pouted.

"Go to sleep, Murtagh."

"I don't wanna," he in an undertone defiantly.

"_Go to sleep, Murtagh or I'll wake Morzan up on purpose!_"

Murtagh's eyes instantly snapped shut. "Promise you'll get me a blanket if I fall asleep?"

Eragon smiled and brushed away Murtagh's wet hair from his face. "I promise."

Within seconds he was fast asleep. His head lolled in Eragon's arms, and Eragon received an odd protective urge.

Murtagh clung to him like a child. His eyes began flickering sightlessly under their lids. He murmured to himself about something incoherently. His grip around Eragon increased as he muttered more frequently, and it occurred to Eragon that Murtagh must be experiencing a nightmare.

Eragon began to run. After nearly fifteen minutes he returned to Saphira, Roran and Katrina with Thorn. He shook them all awake. "Get up, I found Murtagh!"

Everyone stirred and drunkenly gazed at him. Once his words sunk in, they were immediately alert. Roran and Katrina dashed to Murtagh. Saphira craned her neck to get a better view, while Thorn attempted to ruffle Murtagh's hair.

"My gods! What happened to him?" exclaimed Katrina.

"He needs a blanket first, then I'll tell you."

Roran and Katrina exchanged confused glances.

As soon as his brother received the thickest spread they packed, Eragon jumped into his story. He told them everything that had happened since he and Thorn left.

Roran stared at him cousin concerned. "That doesn't sound good. If he's hallucinating and he's only had a fever for a few hours, than he needs to see a healer as soon as possible."

"Where would we take him?" snapped Eragon. "The healers in Surda would most likely kill him on purpose, _claiming_ it to be an accident. You know what the Varden think of him. And in every city the king's soldiers are hunting him down like an animal with high paying fur. The only thing I think we can do is take a look at him ourselves or wait it out."

"We could bring him to Nasuada. You said she wouldn't kill him," pointed out Roran.

"I said if she could trust him again that I _doubt_ they would kill him," rebutted Eragon.

Katrina sighed. "How are we going to figure out what is the matter with him?" When she heard the name "Nasuada," a wheel turned in her brain, but she didn't know why.

"I don't know…" Eragon felt trapped. How would he get his brother help?

Roran sighed. "We don't even know if he's contagious!"

"That's a good point," said Eragon. He pondered his options. "We'll take him to the Varden. I trust Nasuada will keep him safe. Besides, we were planning on taking him to Surda, anyway. We-Murtagh and I-were hoping the long distance would loosen the king's hold on his mind."

"So…we're taking him to the Varden?" clarified Katrina.

Eragon nodded. "To the Varden it is."

That night Murtagh muttered in his sleep. Roran and Katrina couldn't understand what he was saying. When Eragon strained his elf ears and listened harder than humans could, he usually could make out one word. Murtagh kept saying it repeatedly, but Eragon couldn't figure out why.

_Nasuada_.

* * *

**A/N**: Poooooooor Murtie. He was very ooc, don't you agree? But I figured it was okay 'cuz he was kinda…having delusions…

Thanks to my reviewers! And PLEASE review. You guys are the reason I keep writing!! Don't forget to check out my poll! And seriously, you guys are awesome! All of y'all that review!!

Yes, I've been updating, like, every two days, but that is because of spring break. I have a HUGE test AND student-led conferences coming up in the next few weeks, but I promise I will update ASAP!!


	9. Bonding with Daddy

**A/N**: Hey, thanks, everyone! Honestly, I know I haven't been giving you enough gratitude, but I really appreciate your reviewing! So seriously, thanks a** MILLION**!

Oh, yeah, for those of you who asked, ooc means out of character. Just to let you know. ;)

Don't forget to check out the pole on my profile!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eragon!

* * *

Chapter 9: Bonding with Daddy

Murtagh was snuggled in a thick comforter on a couch with a fireplace to his right. Steps leading to the downstairs were to his right, and he could easily hear cursing from below him as he dozed. He was so cozy, he didn't care what was going on in the household anyway.

As he remained curled up under the spread, a loud yell and the sound of breaking glass was heard echoing from the den. Stomping footsteps rose from the stairs and a man that was almost an exact older replica of himself came in and gazed at him. His eyes were read and he looked, as usual, drunk.

The man swiftly moved over to the sofa Murtagh was lying on and grabbed his neck. He then shouted in his ear, "GET UP! **NOW!**"

Murtagh stirred and made a rude gesture-which was incredibly dimwitted.

Morzan tightened his grip on his son's neck and yanked him on the floor.

He watched as his son sat up, disoriented.

"Go away," muttered Murtagh. Then, realizing who he was dealing with, jumped up and exclaimed, "Forgive me," like a good schoolboy.

Morzan glared at him. "How's that scar doing, boy?," he teased.

Murtagh visibly withheld a growl. "What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing. Just proving to you who is your superior. Has the king branded you yet?"

Murtagh took a step back. "No. He doesn't brand." _Thank-God._

"Then what's that on your ankle?" He knew he won when he saw the expression on his child's face.

"It's not a branding! It's a _bracelet_."

Morzan laughed mockingly. "It's as good as any branding, boy. You know the only way that dog tag will come of is if Galbatorix dies. And that isn't anytime soon. Face it, boy, you belong to him."

"No, I don't!" He snapped back, but there was doubt in his voice.

Morzan glided towards his son until their faces were inches apart. "He owns you. You do as he says. He knows your true name, and-" he pointed to the chain around Murtagh's ankle. "He has a claim on you."

"I'm not a slave!" he desperately tried to convince himself. "He doesn't own me! I belong to no one!"

"You're his property."

"You _buy_ property, and _no one_ paid for me!" _Besides, no one has the right to sell other human beings, anyway._

"It's useless being in denial, boy. You cannot escape from him. Any second he could speak those words and you'd be back in his grasp."

Fear swept Murtagh. "No, he would have already said them were that possible. He's not strong enough."

Suddenly, Morzan grabbed Murtagh and threw him against the fireplace, watching his son cringe in pain. "You. Belong. To. Him."

"No…I…don't…" Tears streamed down his frail face.

"Oh?" sneered his father. "Take off your shirt."

"What?"

"You heard me. _Take off your shirt._"

Confused, Murtagh ripped at his tunic until he was bare backed.

Morzan pointed to his son's stomach.

Murtagh gasped and he felt his chest become heavier. There, mutilating his abdomen, was a large burn mark. A red _G _as large as he was stamped across him. _No…_

"Hey, what did I tell you, Murtie? He's branded you. Pretty big iron. Must have hurt when they stuck it on you."

Murtagh sunk to the floor and put his face in his hands. Since when did he receive _this_? Since when did Galbatorix even scar his slaves? As far as Murtagh knew, they only wore those ankle chains.

"He's more powerful than you know, boy," whispered Morzan into his ear. He's just waiting for the right moment to take you back."

Anger and comprehension etched across the youngest face. "You're…lying…I'm not…branded…he's not…waiting," he said between shuddering breaths.

"No," he replied conversationally. "I'm not."

_Yes, he _is_ lying. This is just your imagination taunting you. You're sleeping…_

Morzan grinned wickedly, but made no response.

_Wake up, wake up, wake, up, please wake up!_

And then the world went black.

* * *

Darkness. That was all he could see. The blackest of night. People were muttering to him, but he couldn't lift his eyelids. He just _couldn't_.

"Do you think he'll ever awaken?" came a low voice through the dark's veil. It sounded so familiar. He tried to reach up towards the source of the sound, but he couldn't make his limbs move.

"I don't know," came a second, male voice. One he did not recognize.

He felt someone hold his hand. It was a soft touch, one of a woman's. He tried to squeeze her hand in attempt to let her know he was still there, whoever she was…

"Please," whispered the first voice startlingly close to his ear. He could almost feel the man's breath. "Murtagh…wake up…you need to…_please_."

_I'm here! Please, listen to me, I'm here! I'm fine, I can hear you!_ He wanted to say this so desperately, but he didn't know how to speak. His thoughts were muddled, mixed with fantasies and reality. He didn't know whether he was dreaming or if this was the truth. _I'm here…please… stay…help me…_

"He must still be asleep," said the second voice. "We'll try later."

His heart began to beat wildly. _No! Come back!_ He summoned all his willpower to concentrate. He simply _had_ to. It was his last chance. For some odd reason, he knew he had to wake up _now_.

Slowly and painfully, he figured out how to crack open his eyes.

* * *

Reality washed upon him like his morning face wash. Once his eyes were open, light filtered and he squinted. Now that he was conscious, he realized how he ached. He was fully aware of every little ailment in his body. He managed to sit up miraculously, though it caused extreme agony.

Needless to say, he felt like shit.

Katrina, who had been holding his hand, immediately let go as he met her gaze, blushing. "He's awake!" she shouted. Eragon, Thorn, and Roran all dashed to him.

"You okay?" asked Murtagh's brother gently, placing his hand on is shoulder. He quickly recoiled as he saw Murtagh flinch.

"My back hurts…my head hurts…damn, everything hurts…"

"You should lie back down," said Eragon anxiously. He softly pressed against Murtagh's chest, and Murtagh laid back.

Murtagh stared up at the sky absentmindedly. "What's happened?" he asked.

"Nothing much," replied Roran truthfully. "You've been out for a few days. We've been so worried! Are you hallucinating still?"

"What?"

"I said, 'are you-'"

"I know what you said! I was seeing things?"

"Yes," sighed Eragon. "You thought we were at Morzan's castle and that Morzan was in the den drinking…"

_Well,_ thought the eldest rider. _That explains the strange…though not unusual…dream…_His head pounded. "Where are we?"

"About a days flight from Surda," replied Katrina.

Murtagh moaned an "All right," just before clutching his head. He whimpered a little and all three companions exchanged nervous glances.

"Go back to sleep Murtagh," said Eragon soothingly. "We'll be in Surda soon."

Murtagh nodded and closed his eyes, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't fall back asleep. He spent hours just lying there helplessly in silent agony, until finally he couldn't take it anymore. His throat was so sore, his eyes stung, everything was miserable.

He had been riding on Saphira with Eragon for nearly a full day (Eragon feared that Murtagh would pass out in Thorn's saddle) while Roran and Katrina rode together on Thorn. Roran seemed to have a knack for flying. He appeared to be enjoying himself.

"Eragon, I can't sleep!" pouted Murtagh.

"Well that would make sense, seeing as you were out cold for three days."

Murtagh grumbled.

The clouds streaked above them. Tints of pink and orange and red swarmed the sky, along with puffy clouds that looked like balls of cotton. Murtagh smiled. It was so beautiful.

Eragon tapped him. "Any minute now, Murtagh,"

Murtagh's gaze drifted to the ground. Sand flooded the floor like the seven seas. He turned around to face Eragon, who was sitting behind him. "I…I'm scared," he said, his voice quivering.

Eragon looked at Murtagh sympathetically. "I know, but it'll turn out okay. Don't worry."

Shortly afterwards, Saphira landed in a sandy region with Thorn so she could take all four people the rest of the journey. Eragon and Murtagh knew that if Thorn was seen, the Varden would surely attack them.

And so Saphira laboriously flew for a few hours until they reached King Orrin's castle-the location Eragon's liege lord was currently residing.

"Pretend you're asleep, Murtagh. It might be safer for you."

Murtagh instantly shut his eyes and attempted to slow his breathing. He felt Eragon pull him off of the blue dragon and carry him in the bridal cradle some distance. His heart sped up when he heard a familiar voice greet them enthusiastically.

"Oh, Eragon! We've all been so worried about you! Pray, tell us what happened while you-" the feminine voice was cut off. Murtagh assumed she had just recognized Eragon's bundle.

"Is-is that?" faltered the voice. Twinges of guilt gnawed at Murtagh as he heard the fear in the woman's tone.

"Yes, Nasuada, it's the Red Rider."

Red Rider, eh? Hmph. He _did_ have a name…

"What…happened?" asked Nasuada.

"I'll tell you somewhere _safer_. Please, let us in. It has been a long and tiring journey, and the Red Rider is extremely ill."

"Oh, of course!" Concern seemed to seep in her melodious voice.

Murtagh felt Eragon walking again and used all of his willpower not to open his eyes, just to get one little glance of the being that used to be one of the only people kind enough to him that he felt comfortable around.

He soon felt himself being placed on a hard bed.

"This is the best I can do for now. Despite his health, he'll be stuck in the dungeons until he proves himself trustworthy."

Murtagh mentally blanched. _Please, no more prison cells. I'm so sick of being held against my will_. He listened as Eragon relayed the whole adventure from the time he left Surda up until that moment.

His head began drumming again. Damn! Why did it have to do that at that precise moment? He couldn't hear Nasuada's response. Though he did hear the word, "healer," muttered by one of the two.

The exhaustion swept anew. Every wave was more and more tiring, yet his body refused to let him sleep. Why?

He felt two hands cupping his cheeks and stroking his hair. The left was the strong hand of his brother, and the right hand was the soft touch of a woman.

And before he knew it, he was left in his brand spanking new cell alone…

Again. With nothing but pain and suffering.

_Again._

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry that wasn't AMAZINGLY well written. It's been a LONG day. And I mean, LONG! Anywho, you know what to do**! And thanks again to my outstanding reviewers! **

For those of you wondering, Murtagh DOES have a real life sickness that I happen to know a lot about. If you look through previous chapters you'll find some foreshadowing on his specific sickness. P.S. it is NOT contagious.

And please remember to check out the pole. **You have until chapter ten to vote!! Once chapter ten is up the poll will be closed!! Only a few have voted and i need MORE! Please take 2 minutes to click on the little dot and sunmit you opinion! Thanks!** Anyways, give me many a yummy review and I shall give you many a yummy chappie! lol

And yes, I know this was a filler. But a filler is all I have the time for right now with my hectic schedule…


	10. The Diagnosis

**A/N**: Thank-you everyone who reviewed! I love y'all! Seriously, you guys keep meh writing!

* * *

Chapter 10: The Diagnosis

"Dear, you don't know where that's been! Set it down," snapped the healer Angela, careful to avoid the squirrel Elva was carrying. "It could have some deadly disease, dear."

Elva sighed. "No," she replied in her eerily adult voice. "It's fine, but she's hurt her leg. I just couldn't leave her…"

Angela inwardly cursed Eragon. "Elva, dear, I'll heal it later, okay? Right now I have to head down to the dungeons." She had been slightly nervous when she had received the news two days ago to heal _him_.

Elva sniffed. "Why do you have to go to the dungeons anyway?"

Angela placed a hand on the toddlers head affectionately. "I have some work to do."

"Can I go with you?" asked the child.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Elva." According to what Eragon had relayed to her, it didn't sound like her patient would be a good combination with Elva's curse.

"Why? Are you worried about me?"

Damn, the girl was too smart for her age. "Yes, actually," she decided to respond truthfully. "The things I've been told about the prisoner I'm tending to, dear. I think it's best you sit this one out."

Elva started to cry. Loudly. She knew that Angela always felt guilty when she bawled. "But I wanna help!"

"No."

The crying continued until Angela finally said, "Fine. I suppose you could help, but if he's contagious you're leaving, understand?"

Elva smiled. "Of course."

They collected a large bowl of warm water, a rag, and they rest of Angela's usual healing materials. Then they headed down to the dungeons.

* * *

Murtagh lay on his hard bed in utter pain. His head hurt like hell, it caused pain to swallow, he was parched, his back and kidneys ached unbelievably, and most importantly he was more tired then he had ever been in his life. His hair was plastered to his body. Sweat came out of every one of his pores. He shivered violently had felt nauseous since before he could remember. He itched his mosquito bites, which long ago had began bleeding. Or at least, he thought it was long ago. He couldn't tell time in the gloomy chamber.

Someone entered his room, and he instantly shut his eyes, hoping they would think he was asleep and leave him alone.

"You're awake," came a woman's voice.

He sighed and opened his eyes, only to be shocked to see the mature voice came from a tiny girl with huge eyes and a frail frame. The woman next to her was slightly chubby, pretty, and had curly hair. "Who're you?" he croaked hoarsely. It was to painful for him to raise his voice.

The curly-hair woman grinned sympathetically.

Murtagh sighed again. He hated when people looked at him like that. He was so sick of getting empathy. It was humiliating.

"I'm Angela, and this is Elva," said the lady, indicating the creepy toddler. "We're healing you. You must be Murtagh?"

Murtagh made no response. He noticed the mark on the girl's forehead. Eragon had mentioned her.

After some lengthy and awkward silence in which Angela realized Murtagh was not going to reply, she set down the basin and felt the man's forehead. "My gods, you're on fire! Quick, Elva, get a wet washcloth for him."

Elva picked up a rag and drenched it in the water from the basin. She wrung out the cloth until it was merely damp. She folded it and draped it over Murtagh's forehead. As she touched him, instantly she felt the need to comfort him. the _command_ to comfort him. She knew every emotion he was feeling, and they were not joyous. "You'll be okay," she soothed. "The Varden will forgive you and your brother will free you from Galbatorix's slavery."

Murtagh shuddered. How did she know exactly what to say to him? He watched interestedly as she stroked his cheek with her baby hands and climbed up onto his bed, much to Angela's protest.

Elva instinctively knew that what Murtagh needed more than anything (though he would never admit it) was a hug. She had to scramble onto his bed to reach him. She then wrapped her baby arms around his skinny ones and embraced him.

Murtagh was caught off guard. This child had guts. Most people would cower in fear of him and pray to the gods that his sickness would take a fatal turn. As she snuggled him, he suddenly felt a tiny ray of warmth cover his aching heart, numbing the uncontrollable pain for a few seconds. "…Thanks…" he whispered quietly.

Elva hopped off of his bed and continued assisting Angela. They checked his heart rate, temperature, gave him some painkilling herbs, and questioned him some, though he would never answer. It hurt too much to talk.

"When did you start feeling sick?" asked Angela, disregarding the fact Murtagh had ignored her last twelve questions.

Murtagh, as expected, made no effort to reply.

Angela sighed. "It's hopeless." Then, with a desperate air, she asked halfheartedly, "When was the last time you slept?" She almost didn't believe her ears when she heard Murtagh rasp:

"Since before I got here."

This startled Angela. "Since before you got here? That would to have been _at least_ a few days ago. I was assigned to tending you the day before yesterday." What could he have had?

Just then, Murtagh's nose began bleeding profusely. He sat up and attempted to wipe away the blood with his sleeve. The rag fell from his forehead and he grabbed it and stuffed it under his nostrils to soak up the sticky liquid.

Surprised at the sudden outburst, Angela asked, "How many times has this happened?"

Murtagh held up three fingers.

"Three times! Good Lord! What could you possibly be sick with?"

Then it hit her. He had _several_ of the symptoms. The disease was rather rare though, carried only through mosquitoes and never really found in humans, though it existed for several hundreds of years. She had to go see Eragon and Nasuada to give them her report. "Come, Elva," she stated. "I'm sorry I have to leave so suddenly, but I will be back. I promise."

The two girls than left in a hurry, leaving all of their healing equipment in Murtagh's cell. Right after they left, he frantically reached for the water basin and dumped out all of its contents. He vomited a black liquid into the bowl.

* * *

"Ah, Eragon," came the familiar voice of Angela. She was hurriedly dashing to him, panting slightly. "That's a mighty steep flight of stairs down to the dungeon…"

Eragon gazed at her anxiously. "Is he all right? Murtagh, I mean…have you seen him yet?"

Angela caught her breath. "Yes, and I think I know what may be making him ill."

"Wait, we must find Nasuada. She will want to know." They bustled to Nasuada's office, thankful that she was there.

"What appears to be the problem, Eragon?" asked the Varden leader.

"It's Angela, she thinks she knows what's ailing the Red Rider."

"Come, come, have a seat!" she snapped impatiently. Eragon knew she was anxious to hear his diagnosis.

Once they were all settled in, Angela began talking, with Elva on her lap:

"Well, I noticed your brother has a very high fever. But, you see, the odd thing is he has a slowed heart rate. Normally, the heart speeds up with a rising temperature.

"He appears to be in extreme pain. I gave him some soothing herbs, but I think I may run out soon, so we'll need to go collect some more.

"What startled me most, though, was that he claims he hasn't slept for a _long_ time, which is not hard to believe. He has huge bags under his eyes. I also noticed he has mosquito bites running up and down his arms."

"Yes," said Eragon slowly. "I didn't think they meant anything."

Angela sighed. "I think he has a mosquito transmitted illness known as yellow fever."

Silence enveloped them. Finally, Nasuada said, "What the bloody hell is yellow fever?"

"It's a rare sickness carried in mosquitoes. Internal organs give out, and often times the skin of the victim turns a sickly yellow. In most cases patients recover after a few days, but he claims to have received three nose bleeds already-which is an extremely bad sign. Any day now and he'll be puking blood. And when that happens, within about two weeks there is a high chance he'll…" she halted.

Nasuada covered her mouth to stifle a cry.

All the color drained from Eragon's face. He couldn't…_die_. Eragon just couldn't handle that, especially just after he escaped from Uru'baen. "Is there anything we can do to help him?"

"Well, he's not contagious so you could visit him, but other than that all you can do is treat him like you would with a normal fever and comfort him."

Eragon could tell Angela did not like being the bearer of bad news.

Nasuada placed a gentle hand on Eragon's shoulder. "Thank-You for your services, Angela and Elva." She directed her attention back to the rider. "Come, let us go visit him."

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, so it wasn't amazing. I'm sorry! (sobs) Anyway, tell me if you liked it! And thank-you everyone who reviewed! Luv y'all!

FYI, YFV didn't reach epidemic proportions until, like, the 1800s, but its existed forever. That's why they've never heard of it. Just thought I let you know. Yummy reviews, people. And I like constructed critisicm! :D


	11. The Proposal

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! And I'm sorry this is a somewhat off the main plot, but the plot is a little…_compacted_ for all the stuff I want to write down, so it takes a while to get to the actuallness of SAVING Murtagh. The plot is definitely tied to everything, but I was planning on making this story LONG so I could add all of my SIDE plots. :) I hope you can deal. ;) But, the plot is still here and planted in my mind, and you'll get alotta Galby action soon! And thanks to **SunSetSoItSeems, Canadian-Girl14, firedragon315, Glaedrz, flyingxdragonx123, spazzysassyangel, Dragonanzar, KatjaNilsen, AdriaDara, Spottedstar106, Lunarspirit, and .yashamew for reviewing the last chappie!** And don't worry-plot WILL come into play soon. ;) I haven't forgotten about Murtie's oaths.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eragon.

* * *

Chapter 11: The Proposal

Eragon entered the gloomy cell with Nasuada beside him. What he saw was simply…shocking.

Blood dripped from Murtagh's mouth. Droplets led a trail to the basin in which a black liquid filled. Water was splattered onto the floor and healing equipment was strewn across the length of the prison.

Eragon and Nasuada watched for a few moments in silence, taking in the sight before them. Carefully, they stepped over the items on the ground and sat on Murtagh's bed. Eragon smiled sadly as he saw his brother crack open his eyes at the disturbance and grin at him weakly. "Hey," was all Eragon could think to say.

Murtagh made no response. He was lying on his side and gazed straight ahead off in space. His eyes didn't even waver when Nasuada ran her fingers through his hair.

"We're working to get you out, Murtagh. Really, we are," she said into the awkward quiet.

Murtagh continued to keep his mouth shut, though Eragon knew his brother well enough to imagine him thinking, _What difference will it make if I'm let off or not? Either way I'm gonna die._

"I still haven't bought you new clothes, have I?" said Eragon. They all were aware they were avoiding that _one_ topic. The one topic of what may happen in the next two weeks. Eragon fingered his brother's ankle chain absentmindedly. "This will be gone one day, I promise." He smiled optimistically. "And wipe your mouth!"

Murtagh wiped his mouth.

Nasuada kept on running her hand through his brown locks. She fingered his ear a few times playfully, hoping he would come around to speaking. "Thanks for telling Eragon where the third egg was. Arya is traveling to her people tomorrow to begin the search for the new riders. We thought it would be best to start with the elves. They're mad enough as it is that there are three human riders and none of them." She chuckled, though only to lighten the atmosphere.

Murtagh didn't comment.

A silence ensued in which all three were lost in there own thoughts. Nasuada still played with Murtagh's hair and occasionally ran her knuckles across his prominent cheekbone, while Eragon traced the links on his brother's skinny ankles. All of them sat on the bed, Nasuada's feet dangling off the edge as she turned to caress her friend, and Eragon's legs were entirely kicked up on the hard sleeping spot so his boots were adjacent to Murtagh's waist.

"Katrina and Roran want to visit. They're getting married next month."

Murtagh surprisingly chuckled silently and arched an eyebrow.

"I know, it's quick in my opinion, too," stated Nasuada, happy that Murtagh had at least giggled, even if she couldn't hear it.

"Same here, but Roran moves fast."

Murtagh nodded in agreement.

Eragon spent the remainder of his visit chatting with Nasuada and telling Murtagh what had happened in the past few days. Thorn was in the dragon's hold with Saphira, and the seemed to be getting along well. Also, Murtagh was currently being debated in court whether to give him a trial.

_If he'll survive long enough to receive one,_ though Eragon morbidly.

After sometime, Eragon bade Murtagh farewell. He hopped off of the hard bed and stumbled to the door, knocking over some healing equipment. He examined the basin in which Murtagh's blood was held. "I'll-er, get that cleaned up for you." The blood and the unusual amounts of protein made the vomited blood appear black.

"I'll head up in a few minutes, Eragon," said Nasuada.

"Okay, but don't take too long." He gave Murtagh one last glance and left.

Nasuada studied Murtagh for a moment. "Mind if I lay down?"

Murtagh painfully scooted over until he was entirely touching the wall.

Nasuada lay on her back, a few solid inches of distance between her and the prisoner. "It's been awhile." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Murtagh nod. Still not looking at him, she asked: "What was it like? Being with the king, I mean."

She jumped slightly when she heard a low, throaty voice in her head. One she hadn't heard for Lord knows how long. _Well, you would know right? Have you never met the King of Surda? He's a king. And you said you stay in his palace. So, you know what it's like being with a king._

Nasuada laughed. "Yes, King Orrin is a character."

_You like him?_

"No. Very, very, _very_ annoying."

Murtagh giggled silently, and Nasuada snapped a picture in her mind of his laughing.

_Why?_

"Oh, because. He can never actually pay much attention to his kingdom. I do all the work while _he_ plays with his _toys._" She screwed up her face into a very unladylike expression. "_Men._"

_Excuse me!_

"Oh," said Nasuada, blushing. "For a second I forgot you were male."

Murtagh huffed. _Do I look like a woman?_

"No…"

_Good. You woman have your problems too, you know. Always bossing us around. And the _responsibility lecture?!_ Oh, good gods. I hate that lecture you women have a tendency to distribute to unsuspecting pranksters._ He gave a wide, toothy grinned. His teeth may have had a red tint to them, but it was still beautiful to see him smiling.

Nasuada couldn't help it; she smirked when seeing him grin. "I take it you have experience.

_Oh, much. One time I rigged the entrance gates to Uru'baen when I was bored a few months ago, and the guards on duty opened the gates to let someone in, and 10 buckets worth of dirty dishwater feel on their heads. Well, naturally, a noble woman caught me and I was severely scolded. Good thing I was wearing a cloak so she didn't recognize me._ He closed his eyes and thought back on the fun time.

"That's disgusting."

His smile widened. _I know._

They were once again quiet for a few minutes, until Nasuada sighed. "There is a rumor going around that King Orrin is going to propose to me." She felt Murtagh's eyes on her, interested.

_And you will say no if he does?_

She buried her face in her hands. "I don't know. I should probably say yes. It's best for the Varden. It will keep us united with Surda."

Murtagh's face darkened. _But you don't want to._

"Does it matter?"

_Yes. One day the war will be over and you will be miserable with a lazy husband. you just said you can't stand him. Just think about it before you say yes._ He slowly scooted over and gave her a one-armed hug like a friend would embrace another. _I haven't seen you since forever._

"I know," she said, returning the hug. "I've missed you."

_Me too._ He slid his arm back to his side and gazed up towards the ceiling. _I suppose you have to go now. You've been down here for sometime._

She ran her fingers through his hair again and pulled his ear.

Murtagh went back to his original reaction of making no response.

"Bye, friend. I'll pray that you get better." She gave him a long hug. "And I'll pray your trial goes smoothly." She stroked his hair one more time. "And quit feeling sorry for yourself," she added jokingly.

Murtagh ignored this, as she expected.

He gave her a half hearted grin, and she left.

* * *

Galbatorix paced the throne room deep in thought. Should he send the Shade, the _transformi, _after his rider or not? It seemed somewhat extreme to him. If he sent transformi, surely Murtagh would not come back with all of his limbs. "**GUARDS!**"

Two men with swords filed into the throne room.

"Send for the leader of the Black Hand. NOW!"

A few minutes later, a woman strutted into the room, her long trail of dress billowing behind her. "Your majesty?" she said with a low bow.

"Keep an eye on Eragon and Murtagh for me. My sources indicate they have reached Surda."

The leader of the Black Hand folded her arms. "Sir, Nasuada, Murtagh _and_ Eragon? My Lord I can't watch three people at once."

"Oh," said Galbatorix threateningly. "They usually can be seen together. It shouldn't be _too_ hard to watch them. After all, that would be very bad for you if all of your magicians can't keep an eye on three people, now would it?"

Fear showed in the woman's eyes. "No, Your Majesty, it would be very bad. We shall watch them."

"Go. Now. To Surda." Galbatorix waved his hand in a detached air. He laid back in his throne. "Gods, that boy is in for one hell of a beating."

* * *

Nasuada met up with Eragon. He briefly explained to her-_again_-what the ankle chain Murtagh was wearing represented. She covered her mouth. _Poor Murtagh._ Then, an idea struck her. "We could use this in his trial. It would prove our point about his unwillingness."

Eragon grinned devilishly. "Brilliant!"

Just then, King Orrin walked into Nasuada's office. "Milady, I must speak with you."

A sinking feeling filled her stomach. She glanced at Eragon, who was curious as to what was going on. "Eragon, stay here, I'll be back." She slowly walked to the king's side, and they meandered to the courtyard together. It was beautiful. A large fountain spewed out water like an oasis and palm trees decorated the ground. "What do you need, milord?"

King Orrin fidgeted slightly with his jacket. "Milady…you are very…stunning."

_Good gods._

"And…well…I think the Varden and the Surdians have been having some issues lately. There needs to be a way to obtain peace between the two communities. Make them one."

"Oh? Yes, I agree, they have been arguing quite often lately. Do you think it is about farmland?" She was desperately trying to change the subject.

"Milady, what it is about is not the point. The problem is, _they are fighting_. Before long, there will be an uprising."

"…Me to…"

"But, I have a solution to our problems."

_Oh no, here it comes…_

"I think…and I am not the only one who feels this way. In fact, several people do-that we should…wed…become…m-man and w-w-w…"

"Wife?" finished Nasuada.

King Orrin nodded sheepishly. He shakily kneeled down and took her sweaty hand. "Nasuada, you're so beautiful. Please…will you marry me?"

_Just think about it before you say yes._ Murtagh's words echoed in her head. "I…I have to think about it. Give me a day?"

King Orrin's face dispirited. "Okay, one day. But, I am anxious. I want to hear your answer. I will call upon you come noon."

Nasuada nodded. "Noon. Okay, I'll have decided by noon."

They walked back to her office together, the most awkward silence either one of them had ever dealt with taking place.

She knew she would never love him, and she knew deep down there was another, _somewhere_ for her out there. But, she also knew she had a duty to do.

And war was more important than love.

_Just think about it before you say yes._

_Just think about it._

* * *

**A/N**: Okay, you tell me-add the shade or not? If I add it, it will be an oc. And you know I hate ocs, but since it's my OWN oc, I suppose it's up to you. But transformis are my own little creation, and the species name is pretty self-explanatory. Anyway, you tell me if I should add the shade! Every review counts! Remember: yummy reviews equals yummy chapters! :P And tell me what you want to see, because I love suggestions and criticism! And I'm using way to many explanation points! :D


	12. Ajihad's Message

A/N: Hey, thanks to Dragonanzar,

A/N: Hey, thanks to **Dragonanzar, .yashamew, firedragon315, Glaedrz, zuntiz, spazzysassyangel, Small-Fri, AdriaDara. SunSetSoItSeems. Flyingxdragonx123, Senica(anonymous), Sakura evil twin of Sango, spottedstar106, and xlilypadsx, **for reviewing! I REALLY appreciate it! Sorry if your penname isn't on here. It means you reviewed after I uploaded the document.

**Note: Extremely irrelevant to plot, but necessary filler for the long story I'm planning.**

* * *

Chapter 12: Ajihad's Message

Nasuada continued her duties throughout the remainder of the day simply going through the motions.

"Are you all right, milady?" a servant asked.

Nasuada mumbled an "I'm fine," and went back to pondering her conversation with King Orrin. She knew her answer.

She just didn't like it.

* * *

Eragon meandered across the endless sea of halls in the palace. His thoughts were filled with Murtagh. His fatal sickness was weighing down on Eragon like a raging waterfall of stress.

Pushing his morbid thoughts away, he sat down in his current chamber and mulled over any possible ways to free Murtagh from his chains.

Wildly, he considered chopping Murtagh's foot off just so he wouldn't have to visibly _see_ his slavery. _No, you would never do that and Murtagh wouldn't let you._ He could grovel at Galbatorix's feet? _Damn, how stupid could I get?_ The most simple and obvious solution was to murder the king, but the odds off that happening anytime soon were rather slim…

_Maybe Oromis has something that could help him…_He had promised his master he would return anyway to complete his training, so why not bring up Murtagh in the process? He nodded to himself. Once Murtagh's trial-if it ever came-had passed, he would travel to the land of the elves. _Hopefully I'll see Arya._ He smiled to himself stupidly.

* * *

Nasuada fell into a fitful sleep that night.

_Nothing was around her but blackness. Her footsteps echoed in the silence as she stressfully searched for an exit._

_A bald man with ebony skin and warm, mischievous eyes appeared behind her. He grinned toothily. "Nasuada, what seems to be the problem?"_

_Nasuada rushed into the man's arms. "Oh, father! I've been proposed to!"_

_Ajihad sighed and embraced her affectionately. "My little girl is growing up. If only I was there to see your wedding! And you mother, oh! She most likely would have cried during your wedding…"_

"_But, father, you don't understand," she whispered, gazing into his eyes tearfully. "I don't love him. I'm wedding for political reasons."_

_Ajihad's face darkened. "Nassy, career does not last a life time. Who you choose for a husband will."_

"…_But, daddy, I have to marry him. The Varden and Surda are arguing so much lately, an uprising will occur if we don't wed. our bond will make peace. You should know better than all men-the Varden is more important than anything."_

"_Not as important as my little girl's happiness." His grip on her tightened. He gazed at her a long moment, searching her eyes-her mother's eyes. "You love another," he stated._

_She just stared at him, confused. "I do? Father, I love no one for more than just a friend."_

"_No, Nassy. You love a man and he loves you. It's just that neither one of you know it yet." His eyes glinted playfully._

"_Why won't you tell me who you _think_ I love?" she asked, frustrated._

"_I don't _think_, Nassy. I _know_."_

"_Well," she snapped. "Why won't you tell me!"_

"_Because, dear. You must find out for yourself. Now is too soon." He smirked. "You know, they say a woman marries a man like her father?"_

_She arched an eyebrow. "Really? Is my future husband anything like you?"_

_He laughed. "The first moment I laid eyes on him I knew he was something else. Reminds me of myself, I admit." The glint in his eye became more clear. "He's not good for you. The kind of boy I would use my sword on…though I would probably lose…"_

_She chuckled, now burning with interest. Why wouldn't he just tell her already! But, she thought of her duties, and in the end she knew she must agree to marry Orrin. "But…daddy…I have to marry King Orrin. I just have to."_

_Ajihad looked at her, compassionate anger rising to his face. "Do you want to know where you will be in ten years if you wed this man?"_

_Instantly, they were in Orrin's palace, only there were more windows and light filtered through every possible area. It was absolutely beautiful in Nasuada's opinion. She suspected for some odd reason she was the culprit behind the remodeling. A woman's crying resounded through the halls._

_Nasuada and Ajihad walked towards the source until Nasuada received a view of a ten years older version of herself-oddly, she hadn't aged a day. She was fingering her wedding ring wistfully. "All of this fortune and no happiness…why did I marry him?" the late twenties Nasuada asked herself into the loneliness. "I'm so miserable! Why didn't I marry my lover instead?"_

_Nasuada shouted to her older self (who did not appear to hear her). "WHO WAS YOUR LOVER?"_

_The scene instantly changed. She was in a large living room. Warm, spacious, lovely, and Nasuada rapidly felt at home. Katrina and her were conversing on the couch, laughing, joking, teasing each other like sisters._

"_Yes," continued a ten years older Nasuada. Once again, she looked exactly the same as the eighteen-year old version. "You sure you don't want it? Brings back to many memories for him, as I've said. He has no need for it."_

_Katrina nodded. She appeared to be a young woman near her thirties. "No, thank-you though, Nas. Roran and the kids are happy in our cottage. Do you two have any plan's for the castle if no one takes it?"_

_The older Nasuada smiled. "I think he's turning it into some type of shelter for families effected by the war."_

_Katrina beamed. "That seems like him. He has a good heart when he wants to." _

_Both women giggled._

"_Hey! You're actually wearing your hair up today. That's the first time I've seen your hair up in nine years!"_

_The eighteen-year old Nasuada examined her older self interestedly. Her bangs draped slightly in her eyes, covering her forehead in a way that normally drove her crazy. Yet, she was gorgeous. She wondered why for the last near decade her older self always wore her hair down…and in her face! She wouldn't be able to stand it._

"_Yes," laughed the older Nasuada. "He likes it down."_

"_It's gotten awfully long," stated Katrina jealously, whose mane appeared to have recently been whacked off._

_Nasuada shrugged. "He pouts whenever I bring up cutting it."_

_The room swam and she ended up with Ajihad alone in the darkness again. She was surprised to find her knees shaking, and she realized she was sobbing. She turned to her father. "You're right. You always liked my hair long, too. And the thing about the castle being converted to a relief center? My gods, daddy. I _did_ fall in love with someone like you." _

_Ajihad hugged his daughter firmly. "You're so beautiful, Nassy. I'm not saying you shouldn't marry King Orrin. Just think about it before you say yes. Consider your happiness. Just think about it."_

_His words trigged a memory, but she was so dazed by what had just occurred, she could not remember what they reminded her of. "I love you, daddy."_

"_I love you, too, baby."_

Nasuada's eyes shot open as her dream ended. Her cheeks felt wet. She touched her face only to realize she had been crying in her sleep.

* * *

It seemed like noon would never come. She could hardly carry out her duties, her thoughts only about Orrin and her dream. _My dream._ Was it just a pre-engagement nightmare? Or did Ajihad actually send her a message? She was so confused, so stressed. The weight of the world crushed down on her shoulders. Any day now she would have a mental breakdown. She needed to talk to someone, _anyone_ that could ease her overflowing mind. She left a note on her office desk.

_Gone for a walk to clear my mind. -Nasuada, Leader of the Varden._

She studied every stand. People were shouting at her to buy their products. She kindly claimed she was not interested, and continued on her way. Her eyes landed on Katrina, who was examining a jewelry stand.

"Hello, milady," said Katrina, bowing.

"Please," said Nasuada with a laugh. "Call me Nasuada."

Katrina took in Nasuada with interest. "So _your_ Nasuada. Yes, I knew why that name sounds familiar."

Nasuada chuckled. "Yes, well, I _am_ the leader of the Varden. Naturally you've heard my name living in Surda."

Katrina nodded. "Yes, I've heard of you, but Murtagh mentioned you at Helgrind…"

Nasuada's ears pricked. "Really? What did he say?"

Katrina racked her brain. "He said…what did he say?" She pondered for a long moment. "Oh, yes! He said to tell you he was sorry; that he never wanted things to end up this way-whatever "this way" is; that it'll be over and that he promises it'll be okay." She smiled, proud she remembered this message. The grin faded when a tear fell from Nasuada's chin.

Nasuada hastily wiped her eyes. "He said that?" She hated how her voice cracked.

Katrina nodded. "Yes. Were you two close?"

"I suppose you could say that. We became good friends. It's been terrible with him gone. The impact of his disappearance and my father's death in one day was a great deal to handle back then. I have seen to much death in my line of work." Her fingers trailed across the splintery wood of the jewelry stand. "Gods, I need a vacation…"

Katrina gazed at her sympathetically. "You love him?"

Nasuada was surprised by that remark. "What?"

Katrina blushed. "Murtagh. I mean…"

"No," replied Nasuada with a weak, assuring smile. "We were just good friends. Do we strike you as lovers?"

"Oh, of course not!" Katrina quickly said. "I was just wondering, I mean…I was just curious. He just must be a loyal friend." She paused, as if deciding to say something. "You know…actually, never mind."

Nasuada raised her eyebrows. "What? Tell me."

"Well…"Katrina appeared hesitant. "When he was in his cell back in Uru'baen, Galbatorix entered and told Murtagh that he had to choices: kill the Varden leader or suffer more pain. He said he would 'never kill her.'"

"Really?" She was interested now. Eragon had told her what she believed to be every little detail of what happened since they had left for Helgrind, but he seemed to have skipped that detail. _Probably so I wouldn't feel guilty…_"Yes," she managed to say. "He's very loyal. A great friend."

"I was thinking about visiting him with Roran. We would like to see him. Is he okay?"

Nasuada's face grew sober and she stared at the ground gloomily. "The healer claims there is a high chance he'll die come a fortnight."

Katrina covered her mouth. "That's terrible! Oh, I'm so sorry. I really liked him. The short time he was in good health his happiness seemed to radiate off of him. When he was happy, we were happy. He's one of those people I guess."

Nasuada could no longer see Katrina. Her vision was blurry and she felt trickling down her face.

"Nasuada, I didn't mean to-" Katrina's voice was saturated in guilt. She wrapped her arms around Nasuada in a sisterly embrace and let the tears flow onto her shoulder. "There, there. He'll be okay. He has too much will to give up."

This only made Nasuada sob harder. People were beginning too stare at them as the walked by. People were muttering, "_Is that the Varden leader? Crying?_"

"Okay, let's go somewhere more secluded. People are starting to stare. We don't want you looking weak, do we?"

Nasuada took a few shuddering breaths and brought herself back together. "Sorry," she muttered. "I've just been really stressed lately, and I think it's starting to get to me."

Katrina nodded understandingly.

"Well," concluded Nasuada as she looked up to the sky. "I should probably go find King Orrin now and give him my answer. It was nice meeting you, Katrina. I hope you have a wonderful marriage." They bade each other farewell, and Nasuada hurried of to the courtyard desperately trying to reduce the puffy size of her eyes by rubbing them.

King Orrin was waiting anxiously by the fountain.

"Orrin!" shouted Nasuada.

"Milady, I was worried you wouldn't…are you all right?" he asked anxiously.

"Oh, yes," she sniffed. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." She grinned kindly.

He did not press the matter.

This agitated her greatly because, being a woman, she knew that if he never pestered her for information, they would have a rather secretive marriage. That was the type of female she was. Men believed her to be playing "hard to get," while really it was just the lack of want to talk about her feelings.

"Milady…have you decided?"

Nasuada sighed. "I..I don't know if I have, Orrin. I know I promised you, but…it's such a life changing decision. I don't know."

"I know, it is hard." King Orrin took her hands in his. "Milady, I am so…attracted to you."

"Well, Orrin, I-"

She was halted when he impulsively pressed his mouth against hers. She held back the bile as she realized it was a _french_ kiss. She felt absolutely sick to her stomach. She pulled away. "Orrin, no. I can't." That nauseating kiss made her make up her mind immediately. "Something tells me I'm in love with someone else."

Orrin's face downcast and somewhat irritated. "Is love really more important than war? You will let a man come between the peace for all of Alagaesia!"

"Wars do not last, and love lasts a lifetime. I cannot marry you, Orrin." She wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "I'm in love with someone else." She released her hold and gazed deep into his eyes, searching to find if he understood her.

"_This_ war has lasted forever. You _know_ this. Your father died for the Varden, and he would not want you backing away from your duties!" snapped Orrin, offended.

Nasuada's face darkened. "Don't. You. _Ever._ Talk. About. Ajihad. Like. That."

Orrin continued to glare at her.

"My _father _would want me to commit matrimony to a man I _love_, not because my career demands it! I truly am sorry, and I feel terrible, but I know that there is another solution out there to the uprisings on the brink. There has to be a reason for there arguing. We shall find it." She tried to bring forth those tears she was crying because of Murtagh; they wouldn't come. _Damn,_ she cursed. _Why did the tears only come when I need them to?_ "Please," she asked in false misery. "Will you forgive me? Can we still be friends?"

King Orrin pinched the bridge of his nose and controlled himself. It was not like him to get so angry. _Rarely_ did he ever get upset. He usually stayed locked up in his castle playing with his toys. "Yes," he replied sweetly. "We can still be friends. Forgive my reaction to your rejection. It was very wrong for a gentlemen to talk to a lady like that.

Nasuada cupped his cheek, grinning. Happy the storm was over she said, "I understand, Orrin. May we forget this ever happened and continue on with our daily lives as usual?"

Orrin nodded. "Yes. That would be…lovely. Nasuada…might I ask…who is the lucky man?"

Nasuada stared at him. "I don't know."

Orrin raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn't start a fight. "How can you be in love with someone and not know who it is?"

Nasuada gazed at him. "I don't know. But I am. I just don't know it yet."

* * *

**A/N**: Well, that chappie was not like me at ALL. I'm not a romance person. I'm an angst girl, personally. ;) Review, PLEASE!! And I'm sorry if it wasn't angsty enough. Believe me, there will be angst in the next chappie for all you angst lovers out there. ;)


	13. Bloody Visits

**A/N**: Omg, 152 reviews! Thanks a million guys!! Really!! I keep writing because of all of you!! Thanks a MILLION!! Okay, I'm really sorry it took a while longer. School is back in session, so I have no time to write (again!) Not to mention the fricking WASL!! (stabs WASL tests)

I'm feeling rather poetic tonight, though it probably won't show in the chappie. But I have a sudden urge to use many a descriptive word. :D

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon**

**Warning:**Emoic action here, peeps! Not a lot though, and it ain't graphic or bloody or nothin' like dat. Though there is a lot of blood at one part…**NO THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH ME!**

Gah, I'm so sick of fillers, but my mind is seriously dead right now. I'm so tired I can't concentrate. Something important was suppose to happen in this chapter…(ponders) what was it…

* * *

Chapter 13: Bloody Visits

Murtagh tosses and turns in his large, godly bed. His room is magnificent-fit for a prince. _No,_ he thinks to himself. _Fit for the heir of Galbatorix's throne._ But he is not treated with such dignity. Why must he receive handsome quarters made for a lord when his social class sleeps in a muddy shed outside of the palace?

Today it had been proved that he is, in fact, on the lowest branch of the social hierarchy. He kicks his ankle out of bed and examines the chain wrapped around it. The bracelet had been placed today. He can still feel the throbbing, the burning, the stinging pain as it was arranged on him white hot. He has nasty burn marks deforming his scrawny ankle. He knows eventually these will most likely develop into fading scars.

He suppresses a wail, unable to control his life anymore. But, then again, did he _ever_ control his life? He glances at the sky. It is dark. No one will come into his room at this hour. The nobles are sleeping soundly, sinking into their overly-soft mattresses; the slaves attempting to pass out in their shack; the servants busily tidying the kitchen for tomorrow.

He hops out of bed and opens a drawer in his smooth wooden dresser. He rips at the clothes elegantly folded in the drawer until he feels the gentle surface of the sanded down furniture. His hand blindly searches in the drawer for something of secrecy, something sharp. His finger pricks on the point of a knife, and he knows he has found it. He quietly grasps the handle and pulls it out of his dresser.

The knife he is holding is nothing special: a butchers knife but not heavy duty. With a gleaming silver blade that glistened in the moonlight and a black handle that matches his attire perfectly, the knife would making a fine cutting tool.

And that's exactly what he uses it for. Cutting.

He no longer does his wrists-_far_ too noticeable. He strips off his leggings to reveal small white under shorts and places the blade to his hip, prepared to make the blow. The blow that _he_ deals. The blow _he_ chooses to inflict. _Not_ Galbatorix. His grasp on the handle tightens further as he sinks the blade into his tiny hip.

_Murtagh._

He growls. _What!_

_No more, Murtagh. He tortures you enough. Don't torture yourself. Please don't._ Thorn's voice in his head is concerned.

You_ were the one who hid it last time! You realize how long it took to find it again? I had to get another one!_ he snaps.

_I did not hide your self-inflicted torture tool,_ his dragon replies darkly.

_You got someone to do it._

_Perhaps. _A large, majestic red dragon's head peers through his unnecessarily long window. _Murtagh, please. You're scaring me._ The anxiety in the dragon's tone is unmistakable. _Please, for me! Murtagh, you're going to do something stupid one day! Did it ever occur to you this causes more harm than it does good. It you want to hurt yourself, my gods just go and get your master mad!_

Murtagh glares at Thorn angrily. Quietly he says, "He's not my master."

_Murtagh, please. _Please,_ Murtagh, for _me, begs Thorn.

Guilt sweeps the Red Rider. Irritably he exclaims, _I'll consider it. For you. And only you._ He set the knife down back in its cozy spot in his dresser, sticks his black leggings back on, and stuffs his clothes back in the wardrobe.

_For you._

* * *

Angela silently inched out of Murtagh's cell. "He's resting now. First time in seven days. I recommend you not enter at all, but if you do remain extra quiet. Understand?"

Roran, Katrina, Nasuada and Eragon nodded. As soon as the healer bustled upstairs, they all tiptoed into their friend's room and gazed upon him on what they hoped would not be his deathbed.

Eragon couldn't bear to look at his brother. The sight made his body want to break down and whip up a river of tears right in front of everyone. Angela's words rung in his ears: _His kidneys are dysfunctional. No, that doesn't mean they aren't working-they haven't completely given out yet-they just are not working properly. He's having problems sorting urine and blood. You can tell when you look at him something is wrong with those kidneys. If he doesn't recover soon, he'll loose them._

Indeed, it was easy to see an internal organ was failing him. His skin was glowing a sickly yellow in the flickering candlelight. His breathing was deep and steady, though only because he was resting. His eyes wandered sightlessly under their yellow lids. Dark shadowed rings encircled his eyes. The bags reached all the way down to his feeble cheekbones. Sweat dribbled down his yellow forehead. The flame of the single candle only illuminated part of Eragon's brother, leaving half of Murtagh's body concealed in darkness. Murtagh muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "For you," in his sleep, then tossed his head so it lolled to the right instead of the left.

Although it was only evening, stars dotted the sky outside quickly -summer was dawning in Surda, the hottest and most agonizing season of the year. Murtagh had developed a fever in the worst possible time.

A hushed silence shrouded the visitors. They all gaped in sadness at the pitiful sight that lay before them. Katrina and Roran were firm in each other's grasp, Eragon was hugging himself, and Nasuada covered her mouth with her hand, attempting to stifle a cry.

What disturbed Eragon most, though, was the color of his brothers once tanned skin. His chiseled features were unnoticeable under the mask of yellow blotching his face. Impulsively, he reached out and cupped Murtagh's cheek.

"Eragon," hissed Roran quietly but vehemently in his ear, "You'll wake him up!"

Eragon immediately snatched his slender hand away. "I'm sorry! I forgot," he whispered, blushing.

They all stared blankly at Murtagh for a few moments.

"Well," whispered Roran. "We should probably leave." He slipped an envelope under Murtagh's hard plain blue pillow.

A tear leaked down Nasuada's eyes, and Eragon glided over to comfort her. She met him in a tight embrace and said low in his ear, "_He's not going to make it._"

Eragon tightened his grip around his liege lord. "Shhh, shh. Don't worry," he responded, matching her tone. "He'll be fine. He's not going to die in his youth in a bed, Nasuada. I can promise you that."

With that, they all filed out of the cell all desperately trying to think more optimistically, but a rain cloud had covered them. The only rain cloud in all of the Surda.

* * *

About half an hour later, Trianna strutted into Murtagh's prison. She carried with her a thin green messenger bag. "Wake up!" she snapped.

Murtagh stirred but did not open his eyes.

"Wake up, damn it!" she clawed at Murtagh's face for a few seconds, and his eyes groggily opened.

"Whoeryou?" he rasped. He was slightly irritated his long awaited sleep had been interrupted. He hadn't slept for a week!

Trianna grinned seductively. "Who do you think?"

Murtagh instantly became alert. He shot up in bed to kick her out of his cell, only to clutch his back and double over. He whimpered and slowly laid back on his mattress.

Trianna floated to his side. She fingered a lock of medium brown hair. She curled it around her finger, amused. "You really do have lovely hair. One of these days I'm going to figure out a way to steal it from you."

_What do you want._ His cold eyes were heartless.

"Oh, don't act so angrily. What's that word Nasuada once used? 'Popinjay.' Yeah, quit acting like a popinjay! We both know I'm here to watch you. The King sent me. The Black Hand has been doing rather well," she said conversationally.

_Doing well? You've failed to kill your only target for months! Pity. She too smart for you, Trianna? She seems to be outwitting you every time you try to kill her._ He sneered.

Trianna's fist clenched and turned a deathly white. "She hasn't escaped me. We just haven't tried hard enough. We're waiting for the opportune moment." She kept toying with his damp hair. "Gods, you're a wreck. Galbatorix will be interested to see you caught yellow fever. Ah, well. An escaped slave is bound to receive his Karma."

Murtagh growled.

Trianna snickered. "You know he made you sear not to rat the Black Hand out. You're stuck with the secret, Murtagh. If you give it away that little Varden Leader will be killed instantly."

_I have no choice to tell. I swore in the ancient language. Now go. And if you ever come back I'll set Thorn on you._ He continued to glare at her. His eyes stabbed into her soul like his old butcher knife, but she was not phased.

"I'll see you at your trial." At Murtagh's confused expression she said, "Didn't Eragon tell you? You are scheduled for a day in court three weeks from now. I'm on the jury." She bent down and kissed his sickly yellow cheek.

Murtagh blanched.

"Really, think about it," Trianna said jokingly. She finally let go of his sweaty hair. "You and me should run away together one day."

_Get OUT!_

She smirked and gracefully dashed out of his cell.

Surprisingly, within the hour he was snoozing as peaceful as an angel.

* * *

Eragon spent hours in Orrin's library studying curse removal. Thick book after every shitty thick book until sunrise peeked through the windows. Eragon cursed his bad luck. He didn't find one thing on true names.

He pulled himself out of the beautiful cotton blue chair and wove his way to the dragon's hold. The sun beat down on his exposed skin as sweat evaporated as quickly as it was produced. As he reached the dragon's hold, he rushed inside. It was a large building, not very sturdy. It was basically a bunch of wood planks nailed together to make a worthless shelter. King Orrin was currently hiring people to make a better hold. He didn't have a dragon hold because, well, there were no dragons to use it on. Then, one day two dragons show up with no place to stay.

Inside was no better. Straw was strewn everywhere. It looked more like a horse's stable than anything else.

_Saphira!_ Cried Eragon, overjoyed. _I haven't seen you forever!_

_It has been awhile, little one,_ she responded. She bent her neck forward and nuzzled his cheek.

_How is Murtagh?_ asked an anxious Thorn.

Eragon's expression told it all. _Bad. I don't mean to upset you._

_I understand._ The red dragon laid his head down in between his paws miserably, and Eragon felt nothing but sympathy. Sympathy for Thorn, Murtagh, himself, Nasuada… He slowly walked towards him and scratched the wine red scales. "He will be okay." His voice and his words had two completely different opinions.

Thorn lay there helplessly. He couldn't imagine the despair he was feeling inside. The despair he felt was probably absorbed in Thorn tenfold. The look on the dragon's face was simply…unbearable. Unbearable, painful, tortured, feeble, miserable, every form of misery was etched into the animal's eyes.

Eragon couldn't stand it. "I'm flying to the Du Weldenvarden once his trial is over to seek a way to free you of your chains," he said optimistically.

Thorn sighed. _The only way we will be free is if the king dies. That is not anytime soon._

Saphira nudged him comfortingly. Thorn returned the nudge but did not gain heart. His heart was a void for nothing but sadness.

* * *

Murtagh awoke some hours later lying flat on his back staring at the ceiling and reflected on his dreams: all little scenes from his past, nothing good. Just nightmares, really. He was startled when Nasuada and Katrina silently floated through his doorway.

"You're awake," stated Katrina.

Murtagh would have nodded, but it just hurt too bad. His back and kidneys were in utter pain. He couldn't have moved if he wanted to.

Then the most humiliating thing happened.

He vomited. But he was too weak to turn to his stomach, so the blood collected into his mouth. It dribbled down the sides of his face, but a pool of sticky red liquid stained his teeth.

He couldn't breathe. He was _drowning. _His lungs begged for oxygen as he desperately tried to role to onto his stomach.

"Murtagh!" he heard. Two sets of hands turned him over and a disturbing amount of blood flowed from his mouth, almost like a waterfall.

The puking continued for sometime until he could have sworn he retched up his intestines.

Blood.

Coughing.

Blood.

Coughing.

Gasping for air.

More blood.

More gasping for air.

By the time his attack was over, his extreme embarrassment had entirely vanished and all he could do was hang limply in the women's arms, breathing raggedly and praying it was over until his guests left. Eventually his mind began floating. The loss of blood made him feel, if possible, more fatigue.

Nasuada and Katrina finally gently laid him back on the bed, which was utterly disgusting. The whole thing was absolutely grotesque and reeked with the stench of blood.

As filthy as it was, Nasuada picked up a towel Angel left on the floor, dabbed Murtagh's mouth and spread it on the side of the bed he wasn't lying on. She crawled over him and nestled herself on the semi-clean towel.

"What are you doing?" asked Katrina.

"Honestly, look at him, Katrina! What if that happens again, but we aren't there to help him? You know what will happen? He'll drown." She gazed at Murtagh's limp form, his face buried in his smelly and sticky stained pillow. "I'm staying the night here. Tell my servants where I'll be."

Katrina looked at her, concerned. "Won't you be cold?"

"It's fine."

"The desert drops quite a few degrees during the night. I'll go get you a blanket." She glanced at Murtagh. "I'll get him one, too. How come he doesn't have one?"

"Probably because of the fever."

Katrina nodded and left. About twenty minutes later, she and a few servant girls returned carrying a large, extremely expensive comforter than draped over both Nasuada and Murtagh with plenty of leg room.

"Thank-You," exclaimed Nasuada to all the ladies. She looked at Katrina. "You shouldn't have gotten one so expensive."

Katrina sighed. "I know. But, King Orrin insisted. 'Nothing but the best for the Varden Leader,' he said."

Nasuada felt a tiny twinge of guilt at her statement. "Yes, he likes me to be happy, I suppose. He'll be pretty angry when blood soil it, though."

Katrina nodded in agreement once again. "Well, I suppose I should be going." With the help of Nasuada, they helped turn Murtagh onto his back. "Well, Nasuada, you're here, so if anything happens you can just turn him over." She stroked Murtagh's greasy forehead. "Roran left a note for you under his pillow. I'm sure he would like you to read it if you ever gain the strength." She gave him a hug. "Goodbye, Murtagh. I pray you get better." She exited along with the servant girls and silently closed Murtagh's cell door.

A long silence followed.

"You okay?"

_Yeah._

"You sure?"

_Yeah._

"Positive?"

_Yeah._

"You want to talk?"

_No._

Nasuada sighed. She kept a few solid inches in between her and Murtagh so the situation wouldn't appear _too_ intimate. "Well," she said. "Goodnight, then."

_Goodnight._

She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. She was surprised when she heard Murtagh cry weakly, "N-N-N-Nas-s-su…" It killed her how he couldn't muster the strength to finish her name.

"Just call me Nas, okay? Tell me what's the matter telepathically."

_Nas?_

"…Yes?"

_Thanks. For staying with me, I mean. It's really lonely in here without much company or Thorn, you know? I don't want to die alone…_

His words took her aback. "It's okay, Murtagh. I like being with you…and you're not going to die."

_I honestly and for truly think I am, Nas._

"No," she said firmly. "You're _not_. Quit talking like that." She hugged him. "Goodnight."

_Goodnight. And thanks, really. You don't know what it means to me._

She smiled weakly as she stared at his perfectly chiseled profile that was tainted with yellow skin and sleepless nights. "Don't mention it, Murtagh. You're a good friend. It's no problem."

A ghost of a grin temporarily lit up his eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. He closed his eyes and lay there for what he prayed would not be another restless night.

As she watched him attempt to rest, she silently shed tears the tears she had been needing to shed all week.

* * *

**A/N**: Omg, I am so sorry it's another filler! Man, I really feel bseriously guilty, dude. Filler after filler after filler. It ain't right! Not only that, but I have to say this is probably the worst chapter so far. (sighs) Nothing happens! AT least in all of my other fillers it ties up to the plot in the end! This is really the only one that is a true filler...

Let me know what you thought of it, and if you are really irritated with the fillers, tell me. I swear I'm trying as hard as I can to get back to non-filler chapters like, **PRONTO**!

Review, please!


	14. The Trial

A/N: (does a little dumb jig) OMG, IT'S NOT A FILLER, GUYS

**A/N**: (does a little dumb jig) OMG, IT'S NOT A FILLER, GUYS!! Aren't you proud of me? Okay, here is the chappie! Plus, since it has been so long that I've updated, I'll give you an extra long chapter! (please tell me if it's TOO long) .

Btw, I suck at courtroom crap for all of you lawyer fans out there. But, remember: it shouldn't be completely like modern day. Mainly its gonna be a kinda modern day/Roman times cross of democracy. :)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon.**

* * *

Chapter 14: The Trial

For the next week or so, all Murtagh's friends did was pray, pray, pray, and pray.

All Murtagh managed to do was lay in his hard prison bed puking. He didn't know how long this went on, but he knew one thing.

He was going to die.

Still, the friends kept their faith. Their prayers turned into pleas. Just as they were about to give up hope on their beloved friend, something happened.

Their prayers were answered.

* * *

Nasuada became accustomed to staying in Murtagh's room every other night. At first it was because his fatal condition slowly began worsening. However, after about a week of sickly yellow skin, failing kidneys, and bloody black vomit, Murtagh's health increased some. He could sit up with little pain, and he even managed to limp around his cell. Now she slept in a chair by his bedside just to give him company. She didn't mind. In fact, she enjoyed it.

* * *

Eragon visited him one day. He remembered the disbelief and happiness that consumed him when he witnessed his brother propped against the wall, plopped on the bed. "Murtagh, your…"

"Sitting up?" grinned Murtagh. "Yeah, I know. The healers say I've been improving quite a bit. I guess I'll survive long enough to attend my own trial after all!"

"That's great!" Eragon rejoiced. He hadn't been so happy since Murtagh began hallucinating two and a half weeks ago.

His brother certainly lasted longer than the healers predicted: he had persevered through nineteen days of sheer agony- five more than assumed he would live. "So," began Eragon. "What exactly did the healers say?"

Murtagh shrugged. "I don't really recall. All I remember was telling them my kidneys were functioning correctly, that I would live and…yeah, that's really it. Oh, and they claimed it was really a miracle that saved me."

Eragon nodded. He did not believe in such things-actually, he was entirely an atheist, but even he had to admit a miracle _was_ the only thing that could have kept his brother away from a slow, painful death. "It really is amazing. Not to have given up on you or anything, but I thought you were a goner."

Murtagh chuckled. "Me, too." They two talked of nonsense for the remainder of the next few hours until duty called Eragon away from his merry visit. "Bye, Eragon."

"Bye, Murtagh. And get some more rest. You may be getting better, but your still so feeble, Murtagh."

Murtagh snorted. "Quit insulting me!" he said with mock indignation.

Eragon smirked. "Whatever you say." He dashed out of the room before Murtagh could snap back at him.

* * *

Eragon jogged through the halls. He had a sudden burst of energy. Murtagh's health lightened his day. He came to an abrupt stop when he ran into Arya. "Hello, Arya," he stated, oddly formal. Communication with them had been slightly awkward ever since her frequent denials.

Arya acknowledged his presence. "Eragon," she said curtly. "Where are you in such a hurry?"

"Nasuada has summoned me."

Arya nodded. "Yes, I assume it probably has something to do with the trial. All of Surda is buzzing about it."

Eragon sighed. "So much for keeping him a secret."

Arya face immediately turned somber. "How is he?"

"A great deal better, though I can tell he still suffers from time to time. You have no idea how worried we were. You should have seen him." He shuddered. "Murtagh was like…like…" he pondered on how to describe his brother's condition. "Living death."

"That bad?" her voice sounded concerned. "But, he is better, no?"

"Well…" Eragon knew he should have said yes, but he desperately wanted to converse with Arya. "I don't know. He is doing better. But, there is still a chance he will die. He's so tiny." Eragon pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm so worried."

Arya gazed at him sympathetically. She would have given him a hug, but she feared he would translate her friendly embrace for something much more. In the end, she decided on cupping his cheek. "He will be fine. He want to live too much to die."

Eragon nodded. "Well," he stated dramatically. "Duty calls."

* * *

Eragon entered Nasuada's dimly lit office. The Varden leader indicated for him to sit down in one of the chairs by her desk.

"Now," she said business-like. Several papers littered her desk. Scrolls were strewn on the floor and were unraveled. "About Murtagh's trial. He has already been condemned guilty. This is to prove if he truly is guilty."

"Guilty! Of what?" exclaimed Eragon.

Nasuada sighed. "Really, Eragon. You can be rather stupid at times. He murdered Hrothgar, remember? That treason will no go unpunished.

"But…it wasn't his fault. We know that," rebutted Eragon, worried.

"Yes, _we_ are aware of the fact, but that doesn't change anything. Eragon, Murtagh killed a king. A king he used to _fight_ with. Whether he was acting on free will or not, it does not matter. The fact is, _a kill is a kill. He killed the dwarven king, and the dwarves want his to pay._" Nasuada enunciated every word clearly and slowly in attempts to get Eragon to understand.

Finally Eragon said, "I know, but…"

"…But?"

"But they just don't get it! Sometimes I just wish I could implant my memories into every individual person's mind. You know that feeling? Where you know the truth that no one believes?"

Nasuada pushed out her chair. A squeaking sound resounded throughout the quiet office. She glided over to Eragon gracefully and put a compassionate hand on his shoulder. "Yes. I know that feeling. I think we all do sometimes. Even if it's something _not_ life changing, like a beloved friends trial, but even if it is merely smaller. We all feel that people don't understand the truth, especially right now." She took a deep breath and plopped down next to Eragon, exhausted. She buried he face in her slim hands. "We are all so stressed right now, Eragon."

Eragon rubbed her back. "You really need a vacation," he said sympathetically.

A knock on the door halted Nasuada from replying.

"Come in," projected Nasuada's voice.

A short, stubby, muscular man with an accent and long beard entered through the wooden door.

"Orik," commented Eragon. He was happy to see his dwarf friend, though he was rather irritated with him right now. He was irritated with the whole damn dwarf race. "Good to see you."

Orik greeted his two comrades a little too politely. Obviously, he was pondering the same thing they were.

"We were just discussing the Red Rider's trial," said Nasuada emotionlessly.

Orik nodded. "We want a dwarven judge."

Eragon jumped up. "What! That's hardly impartial!"

"Eragon!" scolded Nasuada. "Sit down!" She turned her attention to Orik. "Now, I do not think- and Eragon agrees with me- that a dwarf judge would be a rather prejudiced trial. We want everything to be _equal_ and _fair_ and _justified._ I feel that the best option would be to get a human judge."

Orik growled. "And that's fair, is it? As far as I know, the rider _is_ a human."

"What about an elf? We could get an elf who has no relations with the Red Rider or the dwarves to be the Honor."

Nasuada and Orik chewed on his words.

"It could work," stated the Varden leader. She turned to the short man. "What say you?"

Orik was silent for a long, agonizing moment. "Well…I suppose that could work. But we need at least two dwarves on the jury."

Eragon growled. "You just want to see the Red Rider executed."

Orik smiled. "Yes, I suppose so. You swore you'd kill him for me, remember? But you haven't lived up to your promise. Why is that?"

Eragon was silent.

Orik's smirk faded. "Well? Why won't you answer? You soft on this Red Rider?"

"Okay," cut in Nasuada. She could tell the tension was about to get rather high.

Orik glared at his good companion Eragon. "Really, why didn't you kill him? I just want to know! You swore you would kill him!"

Nasuada looked at Eragon, surprised, but she did not comment. Instead, she turned her attention to Orik. "Eragon did not kill him for many a reason. Mainly because he has information vital to the Varden. We can not let him doe until we break past his mental barriers."

Eragon addressed Nasuada. "And umm…how exactly are we going to do that?"

Nasuada glanced in his direction. "We'll figure out a way."

Orik continued to glare. "I still think there is more that just the fact he has vital information."

Nasuada sighed. "How about this. If the Red Rider is condemned to death, Eragon will be the executioner."

Eragon choked on his spit. "Nasuada!"

"Eragon, I am you liege lord and you do as I say!"

Eragon's eyes were oddly shiny. "Nasuada," he pleaded quietly.

Orik clapped his hands together. "That would work! I knew you would stay with the dwarves in the end, Eragon!" Then, as an after thought, he asked, "Who is the Red Rider, anyway?"

Nasuada sighed. "You will find out in a few days, Orik. But for now, I wish you good luck with the election."

Eragon raised his eyebrows. "Election?"

"Yes," said Orik. "For the new king. I've been nominated."

* * *

The night before his trial, Nasuada walked into Murtagh's cell like she did almost every other night. "Hey."

Murtagh smiled. He lay in his bed dozing. "Hey," he whispered with his eyes still shut. His voice had almost completely returned, but Eragon had told him to save his strength for the trial.

"You and I both know you're innocent."

Murtagh made a face. "Nas, I'm guilty."

"But at the same time you're innocent. You are…"

"Guilty Innocence?"

"Yeah," she chuckled. "I guess so."

He gave her a childish crooked grin.

"You nervous for tomorrow?" she said.

Murtagh shrugged under the covers. "Not really."

Nasuada grinned weakly. "That's always my Murtagh." She kissed his cheek, said into his ear, "Good luck tomorrow," and resumed her usual position in the chair.

* * *

"The Honorable Judge Oromis Dragon Rider enters."

Oromis strutted into the courtroom. His billowing black robe trailed behind him dramatically. He held his nose up high in a vain, elven kind of way. As he gently sat down in he chair with grace only an elf could contain, he started the introduction, typical court stuff. "We are gathered here today…" After some time he said, "The court call upon this trail for Murtagh Morzansson, better know as the Red Rider."

Whispers shrouded the courtroom for a while until the large doors opened and Murtagh walked forward.

Despite the fact he was incredibly stiff, Murtagh made it to the his chair beside Nasuada, who knew much about law and agreed to help him out. Growing up in Uru'baen, he knew about court, too, but the courts in Uru'baen were rarely used. Galbatorix usually just threw the offender in the dungeons. Murtagh's brown hair was light and fluffly, he had bathed, but there was still a sickly look about him. An unusually skinny, yellow appearance.

The room was merely a portion of the palace set aside for however long for the trial. People gathered just to catch a glimpse of their enemy, but there were no seats for them to sit. Light filtered through numerous windows. People in the streets surrounded the building to find out the fate of the Red Rider.

Oromis shouted to the crowd, "You are to remain silent through the proceeding. Anyone who speaks will be abruptly thrown out. Understand?"

Nods and murmured agreements radiated from the crowd for a moment.

Oromis glanced at Orik, who represented the dwarves on the prosecuting side, and Nasuada, who was with Murtagh. He couldn't help but notice the evil glares Murtagh was receiving from the civilians. Not to mention the dwarves. "Does the prosecution have an opening statement?"

"I do, but it would take to long to list the traitor's wrong doings. Thus, I won't give it," replied Orik curtly.

"The defendant?"

"No, Your Honor," said Nasuada simply.

Oromis cleared his throat. "Murtagh," he boomed. "You are charged with murdering King Hrothgar, treason, and handing valuable information to Galbatorix. Do you deny it?"

"No," stated Murtagh strongly.

xxxxx

"The court calls Eragon Shadeslayer to the stand."

Nasuada paced in front of Eragon thoughtfully. The silence made the anxiety raise to an unbearable amount. Finally, Nasuada stared seriously into the Blue rider's eyes. "Eragon, did you or did you not talk to Murtagh on the Burning Plains?"

"…I did."

"Please relay the details of the conversation."

Murtagh gulped. Eragon's eye witness accounts could be good for him or bad.

Eragon told everything that happened at the Burning Plains since he tore of Murtagh's helm. Everything. _Except_ his heritage.

"So, Galbatorix learnt Murtagh's true name?" Nasuada clarified.

"Yes."

More gasps through the crowd. Many didn't know what that meant, but they knew it must have been important.

"Objection, Your Honor!" barked Orik.

Oromis listened as Orik complained.

"He was proud of his ways! He claimed to be more powerful than Morzan _happily_, didn't he?"

Oromis's eyes flickered to Murtagh.

Murtagh sighed. "It was an act. I was really…angry at the time."

Nasuada gave Murtagh a glare, and he instantly shut up.

xxxxx

Katrina was planted in a chair, nervous.

Murtagh gave her an encouraging smile.

"Katrina, is it true Murtagh visited your cell in Helgrind?"

"Yes."

"Please tell us all that happened during your time together in Helgrind."

Katrina explained in vivid detail what had happened. "He was very nice," she concluded. A gentleman. He healed me, though he kept my modesty. He gave me food, and treated me with the only kindness I had received since I was kidnapped."

"Objection, Your Honor!" shouted Orik.

"Sustained."

Orik growled.

After some questioning, Oromis said, "Do you care to cross examine the witness?"

Orik grunted in agreement and hoisted his stubby body out of the chair. Gazing up at Katrina he asked, "You say he was sweet to you, no?"

"Yes. Very kind."

"You also say he asked you for information on Eragon Shadeslayer and your fiancee, Roran Stronghammer?"

Katrina appeared hesitant. "…Yes?"

"Perhaps he was only acting kind to you on _his_ behalf to find valuable facts about the Varden and their members?" Orik's eyes glinted maliciously towards the Red Rider.  
Murtagh's face remained impassive, but secretly his blood was boiling to strangle the tiny man.

"No! I only told him a little information. He remained nice; all I said was stuff he already knew, but he did not pester me for information!"

"Perhaps he wanted to gain your trust so he could ravage your memories later," rebutted Orik smugly.

"Perhaps I wanted to stay out of the torture chambers for a few days," Murtagh said so quietly not even an elf could have heard him.

"No, he wouldn't do that!" said a flabbergasted Katrina. Why would anyone hate Murtagh enough to execute him?!

Orik and Katrina exchanged icy, sinister glares. "You'd be surprise what _Morzan's son_ would do," he spat.

Murtagh's fists clenched. He was so close to beating the bloody daylights out of that dwarf…

xxxxxx

The trial ensued for hours. The sun was clear in the sky, and you could see the heat swarming the room. Many of the civilians were fanning themselves; oil perspired on their faces.

xxxxxx

"The court calls Murtagh Morzansson to the stand."

Murtagh blinked. "Are you aloud to be a witness at your own trial?" he asked as he stumbled to the podium.

"Hun," said Nasuada quietly. "There hasn't been a trial in Surda for two hundred years. Needless to say, this is _nothing_ like a full blown government trial."

Murtagh gazed deep into Nasuada's eyes from the opposite side of the stand. He felt something stirring inside him. The sensation was rather odd. He never felt it before.

But, whatever the bubbly, warm feeling was, he liked it.

"Murtagh," began Nasuada, snapping the Red Rider to reality. "Do you believe you are a slave?"

"Yes."

"We understand that Galbatorix has certain…_accessories_ slaves must wear. Are you wearing one?"

Murtagh remained silent. Well, obviously he was wearing one!

"_Are you wearing one?_" Nasuada's tone told him to answer.

"…Yes."

Nasuada smiled. "What is it?"

"It's an ankle chain. It marks us that we are Galbatorix's property in case we escape."

"How does it affect freewill?"

"What?" Murtagh looked at her, confused. "Repeat the question."

Nasuada pinched the bridge of her nose. "Murtagh. You are a slave."

"Yes?"

"The king knows your true name?"

"Yes."

"He made you swear an oath in the ancient language or else you and Thorn would die."

"…Yes."

"Against your will."

"Yes."

"And you repeatedly disobeyed and defied him?"

"Yes."

"And you stole the third dragon egg?"

"Yes."

"And he stuck the ankle chain on you."

"Yes."

"_How does all of that affect your free will?_"

"Oh!" said Murtagh, comprehending. "Well…everyday of my life I feel these heavy iron chains weighing me down. I always feel twenty pounds heavier than I am. When I asked Galbatorix why this was he said, 'They are your invisible prisoner chains.' I was so miserable I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep." He thought he should point out the butcher knife cuts on his body, but decided not to. "He tried to get me to swear to capture Eragon in the ancient language and murder King Hrothgar. When I refused, he tackled and pinned me to the ground and smashed my head against a rock until I felt a warm liquid running down my neck and I saw white lights in my eyes. He then attacked my mental barriers and, I guess you could say, _possessed_ me. I blacked out, and the next thing I remember was waking up the following morning on the throne room floor and feeling the weight of another oath upon my chest." Murtagh's eyes were glassy. He hated reliving these moments, but if it got to the judge, it would be worth it.

The audience, jury, judge, and even Trianna were hanging on his every word.

"You don't understand what it's like-the agony us slaves deal with. Live with. The absolute numbing pain. It eats away at your emotions until you just don't care about life anymore. I considered suicide, poisoning myself, poisoning the king-which I would've done if I didn't swear in the ancient language not to- and much more terrible things you couldn't imagine." He smiled sadistically. "I could walk down to his dungeon right now and point out all the torture devices, what they do, and how painful they are. You know why? Because I've been the guinea pig on at least seventy percent of them. The first prisoner to try them out. You just don't understand what us slaves suffer! Galbatorix stabs our hearts until…until…" He took a shaky breathe. "Until your heart dies. Than all that is left is a black void. And once the black void hits, you start talking to yourself. Thankfully, I'm not that far gone. But I've met other slaves who are phobic maniacs that do nothing but sit in a corner, fingering their ankle chains, and singing soft songs about freedom. Because, you see, that is what we all hope for. It's our only goal in life-to escape. But, it is so hard with the ankle chains. It's against the law to house someone with an ankle chain on, so maybe one out of one hundred of us run away each year. Out of that, maybe one percent escapes. As for the other ninety-nine percent of the runaways? Well…" He trailed of. "Let's not go there."

The audience was speechless. Nasuada, his family, the judge, even the dwarves stared at him, flabbergasted.

"So, you see, every time I inspect my ankle I feel…I can't even describe what they misery feels like. You try everything to avoid the depression, but it just build and builds and builds until you crash under the pressure. The ankle chain is so _basic_. But it reminds every one of us what we are, that in peoples eyes we are _scum,_ and that-even _without_ the oaths-is enough to break a man beyond return. You feel like you have no reason to live other than to be beaten.

"_That_ is why the ankle chain kills my willpower. Every time I see it I am reminded of the pain I've suffered. The loved ones I've lost, and the _dirt_ I've become."

For a few long minutes, the whole world seemed quiet and still. Murtagh's words flooded through the mind of each individual in the courtroom. They were caught up in the moment. A new found soft spot hit their hearts for the rider. Even Orik couldn't think of anything to say against Murtagh's testimony.

Trianna watched Murtagh intently. It was absolutely amazing. Just _stunning _the way the man could snatch peoples' emotions and twist them the way he wanted. She had to admit, his testimony touched her slightly, but she was too heartless, so the moment of sympathy for the handsome rider vanished quickly.

After all, she was not there to pity the boy. She was there to make sure he stayed alive long enough for Galbatorix to spirit him back to Uru'baen. But that would be a long time from now.

But she did know that as soon as that boy returned to the capital of Alagaesia, he was in for the worst punishment of his little life.

Murtagh rubbed his eyes and yawned like a toddler. All the woman in the crowd cooed over his baby-like gesture, something the would not have done ten minutes prior.

"Poor Murtagh!" cried one of the ladies on the jury. "Are you tired? We should take a break from the trial. Your Honor, look at him! He's exhausted and deathly skinny!"

"I'm aware of how malnourished he is, Geneva, now shut up."

"How can you prove your telling the truth?" questioned Orik quietly.

Murtagh sighed.

The woman in the courtroom glared at the dwarf malignantly.

"Show them, Murtagh," whispered Nasuada.

Murtagh sighed and nodded. She stepped down from the podium, puled off his boot, and lifted up his pant leg.

On his skinny, pale ankle lay a massive iron chain. The crowd gasped and the voices rose.

"ORDER!" bellowed Oromis. "Defendant, prosecution, do you have any closing statements?"

"Think about Murtagh's story."

"Think about how he betrayed us."

Silence flared in the room, compensated with tension. Oromis reentered the courtroom with a few papers. He planted himself in his large chair and inhaled deeply. Then, he said:

"I, the Honorable Judge Oromis Dragon Rider, find the defendant _not_ guilty. However, he must consent to having his mind searched in order to roam freely, other wise he will be sent to the dungeons anyway." He pounded on the table.

Murtagh nodded warily. "Only if Eragon is the one to search my mind." _He has a mother I'm sure he would like to lay yes on. The only way he can do that is search my mind, I suppose._

"Of course. Tommorrow Eragon will sift through your mind. You will need a witness of the event. People will know you are clean if you are seen wandering about in Surda."

Once hostile humans and elves began rejoicing while dwarves huffed. "Case closed!"

Oromis grinned as he watched his apprentice fling at his brother. He had never seen Eragon so happy.

Murtagh lit up his baby brother's world.

* * *

**A/N**: Finally done! 9 pages, new record!! (does tap dance) Omg, I know I suck at court stuff!! I don't think I've ever known less about a subject in my life! PLEASE tell me what you though about it! **I'M BEGGING YOU WITH ALL OF MY HEART!** I need to know what you thought of it. Was it to long? Did it suck? Do _I_ suck? I NEEDA KNOW, MAN! (puppy dog eyes)


	15. In the Mind of a Traitor

**A/N:** YAY! I got another chappie done! And it's not a filler! Yay! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! You guys keep me writing. If it wasn't for the reviewers, this would have been discontinued 14 chapters ago! THANK YOU SO MUCH! :) P.S. It's not a filler, yay!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Eragon

* * *

Chapter 15: In the Mind of a Traitor

Nasuada instructed a few servant girls to arrange for Murtagh to have a chamber down the hall from hers. She inspected the finished bedroom thoroughly. It had a beautiful red bed with thick comforters, puffy black pillows, and it could easily fit at _least_ two people if not more. It had many windows, smooth wooden flooring, and spacious walk area. A night stand snuggled the left side of the bed, and a white office desk and a plush black chair hid in the shadows of the far corner. A brown, glazed wardrobe was plastered to the wall. She smiled. It was lovely. Yet…

She sighed. Tomorrow would be a long day. Not that today had been short and sweet. She had just suffered several long hours of Murtagh's trial. Exhausted, she threw herself on what was soon to be her friends bed. Just the thought of Murtagh made her grin. She didn't know why. He brightened the room when he was around. She clearly remembered something Arya had said to her on the way back from the trial:

"_Arya!" she had rejoiced. "You are back! Pray, what makes you return so early?"_

"_I heard of the capture of the Red Rider. I felt you might have needed some extra protection. I can see now I was gravely wrong."_

"_Gravely wrong indeed." She laughed._

"_You know, it's rather funny," commented Arya, egging Nasuada on._

"_What is?"_

"_Well…nothing."_

"_What!"_

"_Well," Arya smiled angelically-_too_ angelically. "When he's in the room he's the only person you have attention for."_

Nasuada still couldn't believe it. But, then, she _did_ think much about Murtagh. When they were together, she doesn't really notice the others…why was that? It was certainly strange, but she definitely had more pressing matters. Like the probing later today…

* * *

Eragon and Murtagh meandered into Murtagh's new chamber. They looked around, flabbergasted. They hardly noticed Nasuada, who was there to hold witness to the event.

"No fair!" barked Eragon. "It's bigger than mine."

"Ha!" teased the eldest. "They just must like me more."

Eragon glared at him. "Right."

Murtagh chuckled. "I just got lucky with my quarters." He smirked.

They hopped onto the cushy bed. "Okay," started Eragon cautiously. "How do you want to go about doing this?"

Murtagh sighed. "I don't know…however you do, I guess."

Eragon nodded. "It may take a while. Get comfy."

Murtagh sat criss-cross. Nasuada pulled up a chair and slouched down, her eyes never leaving the oldest boy. Eragon sat directly behind him.

He placed his shaky hands deep into his brothers soft brown roots and watched Murtagh close his eyes, nervous. His first attempt into his brothers thoughts failed. A large stone wall barricaded his entry. "Murtagh, you have to let down your barriers."

"I know." He sighed. "It's just hard."

Eragon rubbed his brothers shoulder sympathetically. "I know. Don't worry; it will be over soon."

Murtagh took a deep breath, shut his eyes again, and Eragon slowly felt the gray colored mental barrier melt like candle wax, dripping to the floor of Murtagh's mind and disappearing without a trace.

Eragon tried to cause minimum pain, but it was extremely hard, for he had never wanted to see a man's memories more in his life.

* * *

Eragon tumbled into a dark castle. It was gray and sad and lonely. He saw a tiny baby nose and light brown bangs obscuring his vision. _Murtagh's point of view._

He-or Murtagh-toddled up to a plump woman with dark brown hair and a apron on and tugged her dress. "Kayley," complained the baby's high voice. "Wanna go outside!"

The maid rubbed her hand on his scalp and hushed him. "Later, dear, I'm making food. It's chicken tonight, remember?"

The child stuck out his tongue. "Ewwwey! Chicken gross!"

The maid sighed. "You said you loved it half an hour ago," she pointed out.

"I change mind."

Kayley chuckled. "Whatever you say, hun. Go wash up for supper."

Murtagh folded his arms and stomped down the hall to the bathroom. His attention soon redirected to under the bathroom sink as he opened the cabinet doors. Under the sink he found a large green glass bottle filled with a purple-red liquid and sealed with a hole infested cork. His teeny baby hands picked up the bottle. It was about two-thirds his size. He slowly carried it to Kayley. "Kayley! Look, look! Look what I found!"

Kayley stared at the bottle in horror. In a quick motion, she swiped he bottle away from the toddler. "That's a no-no! No wine for Murtagh."

Murtagh started to wail. "But I'm thirsty!"

Kayley pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed her aching forehead. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Sell me in the black market!"

Kayley blinked. "Who the bloody hell told you what the black market was?"

Murtagh grinned devilishly. "Ooooh! Kayley said a bad word!!"

"Murtagh!" She grabbed his shoulders. "Who told you what the black market was?"

Murtagh shrugged. "I don't know."

"_Murtagh._"

The baby's lip quivered. "Mildra down the street."

"Curses that Mildra!" Kayley sighed. "Hun, no one is going to sell you to the black market."

Murtagh nodded. "Okay." Nonetheless, he dashed out the door chanting, "I'm being sold in the black market! Kayley is gonna sell me in the black market!"

"MURTAGH!"

* * *

The scene abruptly changed, and Eragon was in a room filled with few toys. He could tell by the hair in his eyes that Murtagh was about the same age as the last memory. The toddler recently discovered some paint in the spare room and currently applied yellow, green, purple, red, blue, and many other shades of oil pastel on his white walls. "Pretty colors," said a mesmerized Murtagh.

Kayley entered through his doorway in a particularly cheerful mood. "Guess what! Victor is coming home today, Murtagh! We'll have the whole gang at supper to-" She halted, staring stunned at the mess. "Murtagh…what's all over your hands?"

Murtagh attempted to hide his fingers behind his back, only to get his baby blue shirt smoldered with red paint. "Nothing…"

"_Murtagh Morzansson! What in Helzvog's name are you doing?_"

Murtagh's vision became blurry. "I-I sorry!" he sniffed. "I dint mean to! Dint mean to! Not my fault!" He started bawling loudly.

The maid sighed and scooped up the child. "I'll forgive you _today_." Then she muttered, "Victor really needs to put this stuff up higher."

Then Eragon saw her.

A woman with blonde hair, much resembling himself, wandered into the room.

Murtagh rejoiced. "Mommy!" He stretched his hand towards Selena, and Selena took him in her arms. "Hey, baby. I'm back! I can't believe I was gone for over a week. My, I missed you so much!" She kissed his fat cheek and asked, "Was he good?"

Kayley laughed. "Does he look like he's been good?"

Selena examined her now soiled with reeking paint dress. "I'm sorry. He can be a handful."

"Yes, he can. But most of the time he's a quiet angel."

Murtagh beamed. "You hear that, mommy? I'm a _Quiet Angel._"

"Sometimes," agreed Selena. She squeezed him until he giggled.

"Mommy!" he gasped. "That hurts!"

"Oh, come on, baby, let's go take a walk."

As they left the room to head down the front door, Eragon stared entranced at his mother. She was so beautiful. So different from himself but at the same time so similar. Her beauty seemed to radiate.

Eragon felt his mind tremble.

Murtagh, sensing his uncomfortable emotions, sent out soothing vibes into his brother subconscious, trying to ease him some. Eragon gratefully thanked his brother.

* * *

Eragon continued to sift through memories. He tried to linger on only happy ones when it came to Murtagh's childhood, but there were a few horrifying memories he simply couldn't help but be swallowed by; he couldn't help but watch them completely.

In the same, lonely castle most of Murtagh's younger childhood images took place (what Eragon realized must be Morzan's castle), Murtagh was running excitedly through the corridors. He was playing hide-and-go-seek with Selena, as his memory recalls. His three-year old bangs swayed with the rhythmic waddle of his feet. He squealed with glee. He stopped at the top of the stairs. _Momma will never find me in the den._ Slowly, he sat down and began inching his way down the steps. After about two minutes of butt sliding to the bottom of the stairs, Murtagh sat up and shivered. It was cold down here.

A man with brown hair, serious features and a warrior's muscular build sat in a cushioned chair drinking a bottle of beer. The scene confused Eragon for a second-he could have sworn it was the nineteen-year old version of Murtagh. Then guilt consumed Eragon as he realized he mistook Morzan as Murtagh. _They are _nothing_ alike…compassion wise._

Murtagh gazed at the bottle in his father's hand, amazed. He always wanted to taste it; when he did it was absolutely repulsive. Why would someone think that vile liquid was delicious?

Morzan's gaze turned towards his son. His eyes were red and bloodshot. "YOU!" he slurred. "GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE."

Selena stumbled hurriedly down the stairs, obviously because she heard her lover shouting. "What's going on down here?" Her gaze flickered to Murtagh. "I found you!" she said playfully.

Murtagh jumped up shaking with exhilaration. "No," he said equally as playful. Murtagh almost entirely forgot about Morzan for a moment and dashed passed his chair to hid from his mother. "You can't catch me!" he mocked.

"Baby, let's go back upstairs." She turned to Morzan. He appeared aggravated.

"I like it down here!" exclaimed Murtagh in his baby voice. "It's big!" He hid on the opposite side of Morzan's chair, farthest away from Selena.

"Damn boy," muttered Morzan, taking another sip form his beer. He was red in the face.

Murtagh giggled innocently. He began running in circles around the chair. "You can't catch me, mommy!"

"Murtagh, _please._"

"Stop that, boy," hissed Morzan, his tongue thick. "I mean it."

Murtagh, as many children often tended to do, committed the exact opposite of what Morzan ordered. He ran around the chair with increased speed, sticking out his arms, flapping them. "I a birdie!" He giggled again.

"I said _stop that._"

Murtagh once again gained momentum and increased his speed. "Tweet, tweet!"

"**I SAID STOP THAT!**" Morzan stumbled out of his soft chair, teetering slightly. His beer bottle slipped from his hands. "Ah, shit, kid. Look what you made me do!" Glass littered the floor.

"Baby," said Selena cautiously. "Baby, let's go." She made a move to glide towards her son and scoop him up, but Murtagh still didn't understand what was going on.

"I'm a birdie!" He zipped across the den, furiously trying to avoid Selena's attempts of picking him up. "You can't catch me! You can't catch me! Na na na na na!" He repeatedly sang this while zooming through the den like a bird.

Morzan lost it. "**DAMN IT, I'VE HAD ENOUGH WITH THIS UNGRATEFUL KID. YOU NEED TO GROW UP!**" His drunken rage was now in full force. He angrily plucked out his sword that lay on his hip from its case.

Eragon knew what happened next.

The toddler Murtagh continued to run, his bangs blowing away from is face. He laughed, having the time of his life teasing his parents. He decided to risk running past Morzan again, hoping the father would finally join in on his son's fun. He received a rude surprise.

Morzan raised Zar'roc and aimed it at his baby boy. He flung the sword.

Murtagh felt a ripping pain in his back and a warm liquid. He had never felt so much agony. He would have sobbed like he did when he occasionally scraped his hand or received a boo-boo, but he forgot how to cry. He forgot everything. He couldn't think clearly. He couldn't see clearly. He vaguely remembered a muffled, feminine, high-pitched yell.

He swayed for a few seconds that seemed to be in slow motion. Then he felt his tiny baby body smash against the hard, sticky red floor.

Then everything went black.

* * *

Eragon withdrew from the memory, unable to watch what happened when Murtagh woke up. Yes, he knew that Murtagh's age was merely three-years when he was given his scar, but being told something and actually seeing it were two different things. He didn't know his brother had been so _tiny_.

He felt Murtagh's mind try to soothe him. His older brother's conciseness was like a cool, gentle massaging touch. Like cold translucent fingers rubbing his head pleasantly, numbing his worries away.

After a moment, he continued his raid on Murtagh's mind. Nasuada watched them, concerned.

Eragon scanned through several memories, when Selena died, when he rejoiced after he found out his father passed away, when he first met Tornac, when he moved to the palace, etceteras. There was one particular memory he enjoyed a great deal.

* * *

Murtagh still had wispy bangs draped in his eyes, concealing half his face. He was jogging a few laps around the two mile, unbelievably large garden of Galbatorix's.

"Hey, Price Tag!" shouted a male voice.

Murtagh spun around to see a graying man in his forties about thirty feet away beckoning him. "Hey, Tornac!" he hollered.

"Come here!"

Murtagh sprinted over to Tornac, sweaty and stinking.

"You warmed up enough?" sneered Tornac.

"Warmed up! Bloody hell, Tornac, I just jogged six miles! I spent my sixteenth birthday jogging six miles!"

Tornac laughed. "I know that, Price Tag. Which is why I'm being nice and giving you the day off from training. Come, I have a surprise for you."

Murtagh followed Tornac into the older man's room, entranced. He stared, intrigued as Tornac opened up his wardrobe and fished through a few drawers in his cabinet. "Tornac, what are you-?"

"Ha!" interrupted Tornac. "I found it!" He pulled out a thin, fuzzy black box from a secret latch on his closet for. His safe keeping place only Murtagh knew about. He held out the box for Murtagh to take. "Happy birthday, Price Tag. Your mother wanted you to have this when you turned sixteen."

Murtagh accepted the fuzzy black specimen. He carefully tugged on the lid until it smoothly slid off and looked inside.

A plain silver necklace with one sterling bead lay before his eyes. It was beautiful, yet it was so plain either a man or woman could wear it. A note lay beside the silver necklace. With shaking hands he gently unfolded the yellowing paper.

_Murtagh, I'm sorry if I'm not here to give this to you in person. I want you to know I love you very much. This is a token my father gave to me. Wear it always to remind you of me. Be aware that during all the hardships I know you will face in your life that I will be there watching over you._

_With Love,_

_Your Caring Mother_

Murtagh reread the letter. He didn't know what to think of it. He liked the necklace, that's for sure. Would he ever need hope so badly that he would always wear it? He couldn't imagine being so miserable. Not that he's had the best life but…

Tornac helped him stick on the fine silver. "Very attractive," said Tornac. He grinned. "The ladies will be all over you! They love sensitive men. What better way to think you are sensitive than to wear a necklace?"

"Shut up," muttered Murtagh, punching Tornac in the arm playfully.

"What? It's true, Price Tag! Ladies _love_ sensitive men."

Murtagh sighed. "You are so strange sometimes."

* * *

The scene changed and Eragon continued searching through his brother's mind. In the end, Murtagh was as clean as a whistle. "All done," he praised joyously.

"Not entirely," commented Murtagh. "You can't search the spots in my mind that are concealed by oaths in the ancient language."

Eragon sighed. "Like what? Can you find a way around them?"

"Well…" Murtagh thought for a hard moment. "I really only have one oath that is about secrecy that you need to be worried about. It's about…the Black Hand."

Nasuada and Eragon instantly became alert. "You know who is leading them?" asked Nasuada cautiously.

"The old leader died about a month ago, about a week after the Burning Plains. After she died, they kidnapped an innocent magic doer and twisted their mind. The leader can be saved, she is just being brainwashed. At first she was an unwillingly member of the Black Hand, but eventually it grew on her. The new leader is within the walls. She is a close contact of Nasuada."

"Who?" pestered the dark skinned woman.

Murtagh sighed. "I can't tell you. But I'll figure out a way. I promise."

Eragon nodded. "And you say that was the only real threatening memories blocked by oaths?"

"Yes," agreed Murtagh. "They are."

"Well, then. We shall bring this up later. Until then-" he sat up from his position behind Murtagh on the bed, gave his brother a one armed hug, and exited through the door. "I'll see you later, Price Tag! And don't forget-women love sensitive men!" With that, Eragon dashed out the door, leaving Murtagh alone with Nasuada.

"Hey," said Murtagh.

"Hey."

"You know what time it is?"

Nasuada checked the sky. "It's dark. Probably about time for you to try out your new bed. Isn't is soft and cushy?"

Murtagh laid back, testing out the bed. "Very. I love it. Have you tried it yet?"

"No."

Murtagh closed his eyes and made a face that said, I'm-in-heaven. "It's _very_ soft. Try it!"

"I have to leave, Murtagh."

"Ah, come on, try it!"

She sighed. "All right, all right." She crawled over him and laid down beside him. "Wow. This is…nice. As good a my bed." She yawned and closed her eyes. "I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a second…" Within about ten minutes, her eyes bagan flickering under their lids, and her breathing evened.

"Umm…Nas? You awake?" He prodded the Varden Leader. "Look, uh, I don't know how to break this to you, but now that I'm not sick anymore this is kind of awkward."

She continued to sleep.

"Nas." He poked her shoulder with his pale index finger. "Nas, okay. Seriously, get up."

She stayed asleep.

"Nas!" He shook her violently, and this time she shot up, muttering something incoherent about heat stroke.

"What?" she asked, frantic. "Are we under attack!"

"Calm down. We aren't under attack. As much as I love your company, I just thought you might like to head back to your own bed." He said this slowly, hoping his words would sink in.

"Oh," she stated, embarrassed. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't know I feel asleep. I'll just go now." She slid off the mattress and floated to the door.

"Goodnight, Nas."

"Goodnight…what's that Eragon called you?"

"What?" he said. "Price tag?"

"Yeah!"

"If you start calling me Price Tag I swear I'll-"

"Goodnight, Price Tag!" With that, she lifted up her skirts and sprinted to her chamber.

* * *

**A/N:** Omg, another long one. :) Seven pages. :P Did you like it? I thought it was kinda lame. It kinda gave off a filler air, even thought it wasn't one…

**PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!! I'LL LOVE YOU FOREVER IF YOU DO!!**


	16. The Wedding

**A/N:** Bad news, everyone! I have pink eye! Since I don't have to go to school, I updated five days ahead of schedule! Okay, here is the next chappie! Thanks to:**WingedXForever, spazzysassyangel, Sakura evil twin of Sango, Dragonanzar, Spottedstar106, AdriaDara, firedragon315, luckystar125, flyingxdragonx123, xlilypadsx, and Canadian-Girl14** for reviewing!

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Eragon

* * *

Chapter 16: The Wedding

Eragon wandered to the Dragon Hold. _Saphira! How are you?_

_I am okay, little one._ She nuzzled Eragon affectionately.

Eragon turned to Thorn. "Have you talked to Murtagh yet?"

_Yes,_ exclaimed the dragon. _He is doing much better, though he is still very feeble._

"Yeah, he is," agreed Eragon. His concern for his older brother was almost sanity breaking. _Murtagh, Murtagh, Murtagh._ That's all anyone ever thought about anymore. His attention flicked to the entrance of the hold as he heard light footsteps.

A beautifully formed woman wearing an elegant off-white dress with lace around the slim waist floated into the hold. "Hello Eragon," said Arya nonchalantly.

"Arya," he acknowledged. An awkward silence ensued in which Eragon desperately tried not to stare at Arya's form. "How are you?"

"Very well, actually," she responded. "You?"

"Surviving. I'm actually a great deal better now that my brother is healing."

Arya nodded. "How is he holding up? He seemed very…_malnourished _at the trial."

Unintentionally, Eragon's fists clenched. "That sadistic king. He has been so terrible to my brother. I swear by the gods that he will die!"

Arya placed a hand on his shoulder. "You may get your wish surprisingly soon, Eragon. Nasuada is planning on marching soon."

Eragon felt his ears perk. "How soon?"

Arya sighed. "I do not know."

Eragon couldn't help but notice that the elf held herself in a way that very few humans could maintain. She was to beautiful. He desperately attempted to hold himself back from doing something incredibly dimwitted.

They were silent for some time. "Have you noticed the way Nasuada looks at your brother?"

Eragon raised an eyebrow. "No. I don't really pay attention to those things."

Arya laughed her silver bells laugh. "'Tis the nature of men to be ignorant."

Eragon folded his arms. "What does not noticing how my liege lord have to do with male ignorance? Personally, I don't know how Nasuada stares at Murtagh and I don't think it's that important that I should."

Arya couldn't help herself. She chuckled. "Ignorance and apathy! We _are_ acting spoiled today!" she teased.

Eragon grinned, sensing she was in a pleasant mood. "Yes, what is wrong with apathy anyway? It is better than all the fussing you woman make. I don't understand why you constantly say one thing and mean something else."

"When you say 'you,' do you mean females in general or me?"

"Both," stated Eragon, still smiling. He instantly knew he said the wrong thing.

"_Well_," snapped Arya. "Forgive me if I'm indirect!" She stomped out of the Dragon Hold, somehow managing to keep her grace about her.

Eragon stared dumbfounded. _Go after her,_ sounded Saphira's voice in his mind. Eragon raced after her. "Hey, Arya!" he called.

Arya halted. "What?" she growled.

"Why must you insist on doing that?"

Arya glared at him mutinously. "Do what, Argetlam?"

"Why do you always get so offended."

"It's my nature," she replied simply.

"It really will drive your mate crazy one day. You need to stop being so sensitive! I thought we were having a good time!" He tried extremely hard to keep his voice level.

Arya sighed. "Eragon," she said. "Elves are easily offended in case you haven't realized that yet."

"Oh believe me," said Eragon vehemently. "I've realized it. I just want to know _why._ Why can't you just laugh along and quit being so serious? I was just playing. I didn't mean to offend you."

Surprisingly, Arya's expressions softened. "What are you saying?"

"I'm just asking why you can't just laugh and be a little more carefree and-"

"How can we be carefree with such a war going on! With Murtagh's current position! With everything that is happening?" The conversation quickly escalated to a fight.

"We all need to relax a little. Get us worrying less. We need to calm ourselves to get rid of some stress."

There was a short pause. "You really think I'm too sensitive?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "Come, let's take a walk; let's try to ease ourselves of stress."

Arya dangled her feet out of a tree. Eragon sat beside her. "Yes," she said. "I really need to calm down."

Eragon chuckled. "How unlike you. It's almost as if you are a different Arya."

"Will you help me control my temper?" she asked.

"Of course," replied Eragon, taken aback by the question. "Let's talk of something. What was it you were going to tell me of Nasuada and my brother?"

"Oh, yes," started Arya, happy to talk. "It was odd. There was a moment during the trial where I swear they could have gazed into each others eyes for hours."

Eragon blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I just have a feeling of these things, Eragon. Something tells me a very confusing romance will come about between them."

Eragon blinked anew. "And you decided all of this because they looked at each other for a few seconds?"

Arya nodded. "I told you, I can just sense these things. I think they are attracted to one another. Well, at least Nasuada. I know when a woman is drawn to a man like a creature knows how to breathe."

Eragon, deep in thought, said, "Well, I don't know. Murtagh did mention how stunning she was back in Farthen Dur, but that was eons ago."

Arya smiled angelically. "I'm going to keep an eye on them."

Eragon stared at her. "You mean, like…_matchmaking?_"

"Oh, no, of course not! They are the worst suited political match in the history of Alagaesia. I'm just curious. And if something _is_ going on between them, well…"

"We break it up for the sake of the Varden?" finished Eragon.

Arya sighed. "Yes." She nodded.

* * *

Katrina and Roran walked hand and hand near an oasis. "How are you today, my love?" questioned the man.

Katrina smiled. "All right."

"Yesterday was rather long," commented Roran. "that ridiculous dwarf!"

Katrina sighed. "He was fine, Roran. It was not that important. It's over now, and Murtagh was let off." She stepped in front of him and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Let's talk about next week," she said enthusiastically.

Roran's face lit up. "I can hardly wait. Alas we shall wed!"

Katrina giggled happily. "Yes, I can hardly believe it is being held in the palace!"

"Oh, I know! And how Nasuada is taking all that time out of her busy schedule to decorate?"

"She is amazing." They wandered longer along the oasis- the little patch of paradise in the vast desert of sand.

* * *

Three nights before the wedding, Nasuada was on a verge of a mental breakdown. A maid came up to her and asked, "Baby blue or light pink, Milady?"

"Pink or blue. What is this, a baby shower? Light pink. It matches the bride's maids' dresses."

The servant nodded and ordered a few decorators to hoist light pink curtains.

Murtagh walked in the banquet hall where Nasuada was supervising. "Hello, Nas. My, it looks lovely in here! Katrina will be pleased." He smiled. Katrina and him had become like brother and sister over the past few days.

Nasuada glared at him. "What do you want?"

"Woah! Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. My, my, what is the matter?"

Nasuada ripped at her hair. "What do you _think_ is the matter, Price Tag?"

Murtagh growled. "I told you guys to stop calling me that! I only permitted Tornac to call me Price Tag and that was because I couldn't get him to stop," he snapped.

"Well, forgive me, I will get tired of Price Tag eventually, but for now it's rather entertaining to watch you hiss at the name." She chuckled and handed him a few tablecloths she was holding. "Set these up."

Murtagh analyzed her for a few seconds then handed a servant girl to put the tablecloths on. He grabbed Nasuada's hand. "Come with me," he said. "Let's go to the oasis. It'll clear you mind."

Nasuada blinked. "At this hour? Murtagh, it will be freezing outside."

Murtagh shrugged. "Get a coat. What, are you afraid to be seen with me in the middle of the night? Because I doubt anyone will be out at this time."

Nasuada looked at him. "Murtagh, I have to work."

"Perhaps you should go with him, Milady," said the servant who asked her whether she wanted baby blue or light pink. "You need to relieve some stress."

"Oh!" exclaimed Murtagh, gazing at the maid. "You really are smart. You should listen to her more often, Nas." The maid blushed.

Nasuada sighed. She turned to the servant girl "Take control for how long I am gone, Geneva."

Geneva nodded.

Murtagh and Nasuada waltzed out to the courtyard, and Murtagh directed Nasuada to the east of the palace lawn.

"Where are we going?" questioned Nasuada, exasperated.

"You'll see," he replied simply. They walked for about a mile until Murtagh halted. "Here we are."

Nasuada could just make the outline of the oasis out. "Sparkling Oasis. Why did you take me here?"

"Because it's where people go to calm themselves."

"Or to get their first kiss," muttered Nasuada irritably.

Murtagh laughed. "Well, maybe I'll get lucky," he teased.

Even though Nasuada knew he was kidding, her face flushed. Thankfully, it was pitch black outside. "We'll be lucky if we don't get lost out here. It's so dark and-" She couldn't finish her sentence. She felt forceful hands on her back.

Murtagh shoved Nasuada until she tripped. He heard a loud splash and he knew he did his job. The next thing he heard was Nasuada yelling at him. He could barely hear her. He was in hysterics. "Priceless!"

"MURTAGH MORZANSSON, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR NONESENSE! I CAN'T BELIEV YOU WOULD DO THAT! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!" She stumbled out of the shallow water, drenched from head to toe with water and soggy sand. She squeezed his wrists and yanked him in. "Ha! You deserve that!" she sneered.

Murtagh, now as saturated as Nasuada said, "Shit! This is _freezing!_"

"Now you know how I feel!" snapped Nasuada, but she couldn't help it. She giggled loudly. For a few minutes, the wedding and the Varden were almost completely forgotten.

Murtagh joined in on her laughter. "You gotta admit, though, it's pretty stress deducing."

"Okay, so it is." She sat down in the water beside Murtagh, both their butts sinking in the wet sand.

"How come you never wear you hair down?" prodded Murtagh.

"Because I can't stand it in my eyes." Before she realized what was going on, Murtagh had plucked out the barrettes and quills that kept her hair up in her neat bun. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall, plastering to her wet neck.

"I like it down," he noted. "It's gorgeous. You really should wear it down with absolutely _nothing_ in it more often."

She huffed. "It obstructs my work."

"All the more reason to wear it down! Your work too much."

"You don't work _enough_."

Murtagh peered. "I protect the borders with Eragon, and most people are beginning to trust me again. You realize how hard that is?"

Nasuada ignored his comment but simply charged at him and pinned him to the bottom of the shallow water, sitting on top of him. Her hands tightened their grip on his forearms as he struggled to get up. Eventually, she released him so he could breathe.

Murtagh's head shot out of the water as he gasped for air. After he caught his breath, he playfully pushed Nasuada in the water and did the same to her.

As she came up for air, they bumped foreheads.

"Owe!" they both chimed at the same time, rubbing their abused skulls, chuckling.

"You okay asked Murtagh," nudging Nasuada's shoulder.

"Yeah," she laughed.

For a long moment, they just gazed into each other's eyes, their faces inches from the others'. Nasuada couldn't look away. His eyes were so…_entrancing_. Their electric blue, unique, stormy color seemed to light up the dark night like thunder and lightning.

"Nas," breathed Murtagh.

"Price Tag," she muttered.

Then, neither knowing what would happen, they leaned closer to each other until they felt the other's fast, hot breath on their face.

"Close your eyes," whispered Nasuada.

Murtagh obeyed.

She leaned in and gently touched her lips to his, her fingers grasping the brown roots of his hair.

He stroked her cheek.

They stayed that way for Lord know how long.

But it was the best French either one of them had ever received.

Once they unwillingly pulled away, they just stared into the other's eyes, searching for the bottom of the irises.

"We can't," whispered Murtagh.

"I know," sighed Nasuada.

Murtagh's face cracked into a grin. "Unless it's in secret."

Nasuada's face lit up like a candle lights up a dark room. "That would work."

"In secret?"

"In secret."

Murtagh slunk his arms around her waist as Nasuada did the same with his neck. She buried her face in his collar bone and twisted a lock of his medium brown hair around her index finger.

They could have stayed that way forever.

* * *

"Bloody hell!" shrieked Geneva. "What happened to you?"

"I fell in the oasis," commented Nasuada, examining her dress. Murtagh had headed to his quarters. "I think I'll go clean up."

Geneva ordered a few servant girls to help Nasuada dry herself and get her into new clothes. "He took you to the oasis?"

"Yeah. It was nice," she said dryly.

"Your head is in the clouds, Milady," Geneva pointed out, suspicious.

"Hmmm?" Nasuada instantly alerted. "Oh! I'm sorry. The coldness is getting to me."

Geneva nodded. Worry masked her face. "Stupid boy. Pushing you in the water at only Helzvog knows what temperature it is outside. It must be below freezing!"

"Yes, it does drop quite a few degrees at night." She still hadn't gotten used to the dramatic temperature change of the barren desert. She couldn't wait until she could move to Alagaesia when Galbatorix died…

…_If_ he died.

Just then, a servant rushed through the halls. She stopped in front of the Varden leader, clutching her chest while gasping for breath. "Milady! It's the guest, Murtagh! He's frantic! He sent me to get you immediately. He's says it's urgent!"

Nasuada, her heart pounding as fear and adrenaline filled her like water fills a bowl, scurried as quickly as her soaking fabric could take her to Murtagh's chamber. As she entered the door to his large room, she gasped, "Murtagh! What is it? Are you okay?"

"I've got it, Nas!" Murtagh rejoiced. "I've figured out a way through my oaths!" He practically jumped in exhilaration. "I've figured out a way to tell you who the leader of the Black Hand is!"

Nasuada's breathing slowed. "That's great! How are you going to do that?"

Murtagh blinked. "Why, tell you, of course! Here, sit down."

Nasuada plopped herself on the cushioned bed, and he pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. "Think of all your close contacts."

"Uh…okay?"

"Name them."

"_Name them?_"

"Yes," he said impatiently. "_Name them._ If my eyes flicker, you will know."

"Know that they are the traitors?"

"No!" he snapped.

Nasuada flinched. "Know what then?"

"I've sworn that I won't reveal the traitors, remember? So you will just…_know_." He winked. "Know that they have been a good citizen of the Varden."

"Oh!" comprehension dawned on her. He wasn't aloud to _say_ who the traitor was, so he would have her name someone that was "a good citizen," biyt really it meant they were a traitor. "I get it! Wow, I'm slow today…" She rubbed her head.

"Still in a daze for when you got soaked?" he teased. No one would know his double meaning besides her.

She blushed. "Shut up, Price Tag."

Murtagh growled. "I told you to stop-"

Nasuada ignored his complaining and recited her close contacts. "You, Eragon, Arya, and King Orrin, but I doubt you or them would betr- be good citizens."

"No," replied Murtagh casually. "We are _terrible_ citizens. We should all be executed." He grinned toothily.

"Angela and Elva," she continued. "Farica…uh…Geneva, Jormunder, Trianna-"

A strange gleam crossed Murtagh's eyes at the lady's name. "Trianna?"

Murtagh didn't say anything. He _couldn't_. But oaths had no power over what your eyes said. Only your mouth. The gleam remained, though he kept silent.

"Is she a good citizen, Price Tag-"

Murtagh glared at her.

"Tell me, Price Tag! Is she a good citizen?"

"_Excellent_. I think she deserves some ice cream." He cracked a trademark devilish grin. He finally found another loophole.

* * *

In prison, Trianna furiously shook the dungeon bars. "Murtagh! You foul-"

Murtagh sighed. Eragon, Arya, Nasuada, and King Orrin were by his side. "Calm down, we won't hurt you! Foul language won't get you anywhere, Trianna. Remember that."

A rumbling sound resounded from deep within Trianna's throat. "He hasn't corrupt me. I'm fine."

Eragon eyes Trianna warily. "Well, Murtagh claims you haven't been with Galbatorix that long, which I suppose explains why I never felt his presence in your mind before." He reached out and attacked her mental barriers. They were sturdy, thick, brick walls, but he easily shattered them. His eyes widened. "Oh, yes," he muttered. "I feel him now."

Everyone kept quiet, waiting for Eragon to speak.

"Feels like he isn't entirely rooted," he commented. "Huh. She has a few forced Ancient Language oaths she has recited, but we have dealt with those before. It looks like the Black Hand kidnapped her and mentally beat her until she agreed to lead them…" He paused. "She'll be okay. I think that-" he ended his statement abruptly as he clutched his head. He collapsed onto the floor, searing in pain.

"Eragon!" cried Murtagh. He bent down over his brother and shook him violently.

"Agh!" Eragon twisted in Murtagh's grasp in obvious pain. Everyone had circled around him.

"Eragon, fight it. Whatever it is, fight it," injected Arya.

Eragon's fit lasted for about five minutes until he finally laid limp in Murtagh's arms, gasping for air. "It was terrible!" he cried. "He's tormenting her, and when I tried to toy with her oaths he attacked me!"

"Who?" asked King Orrin.

"Galbatorix, obviously!" snapped Nasuada.

Murtagh gently angled Eragon on the floor of the cell and strutted right in front of Trianna. They held each other's gaze for sometime while Murtagh warily explored her memories. Finally, Murtagh sighed. "I've seen this before. She's under a spell. There's nothing we can do for her until Galbatorix is killed." He let his words sink in.

"What should we do?" questioned Arya.

"There's nothing we can do. We keep her in here and use what she knows to round up Black Hand members. She'll be back to normal when Galbatorix dies, like I've said. He's twisted her mind some." Murtagh pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Wait," said Nasuada. "Why didn't he try to twist your mind?"

Murtagh blinked. "He did. But I wouldn't give in, so he never gained enough access to make me go crazy."

King Orrin blinked. "So she's crazy or sane, because I have _no_ idea what's going on!"

"She's half and half. She's under a spell that has corrupt her mind, but she will recover…one day. If he ever dies."

"So she's crazy?" clarified the king.

Murtagh glanced at him irritably. "Yes!"

"Sorry! Didn't mean to annoy you."

* * *

Nasuada, Murtagh, and Arya sat in the back row on the groom's side of the aisle. "Well," commented Murtagh. "This place is nice. Good color coordination. Light pink and white. Interesting."

Nasuada shrugged. "Light pink matched the bride's maid's dresses, and Katrina wanted white."

"Lovely," put in Arya.

"Thanks," replied Nasuada.

"Look at Katrina's dress," admires Arya. "It billows behind her like a river!"

"I know," said Murtagh, gazing at the magnificent gown.

The three watched the on going ceremony. A few commoners who did not attend Murtagh's trial glanced back at him every now and then, concerned he would try something.

"Dearly beloved," said the portly priest, "We are gathered here today to unite Roran, son of Garrow, and Katrina, daughter of Sloan, in holy matrimony. If anyone objects to the marriage, please say so now."

It was silent, and Murtagh had an impulse to jump up and say, "I object!" simply because it was in his nature to disobey the rules.

Nasuada, seeming to ascertain what was on his mind, stomped on his foot and smiled in satisfaction as he cringed.

The marriage ensued until Murtagh heard Roran say, "I do."

"Katrina," droned the priest. "Do you take Roran Garrowsson as your lawfully wedded husband in times of…" On, and on and on and on.

"I do," stated Katrina firmly.

The priest smiled. "You may kiss your bride."

As Roran turned To Katrina to kiss her, and the room began applauding, Nasuada grabbed Murtagh's cold hand with its icy fingers in her hot one.

Katrina and Roran walked down the aisle, neither more happy in their entire life.

* * *

**A/N:**Well, I hoped you liked it. I'm sorry it was long again. I honestly can't tell if it was a filler or not (it probably was) so I guess you can pick. Sorry if it sucked. **;;** I'm almost to the climax! Just a few more chappies and we hit the ending! **AND THE CLIMAX WILL NOT BE FILLERS, OBVIOUSLY.**

**PLEASE REVIEW FOR ALL THAT IS GOOD AND WONDERFUL!**


	17. The Third Egg

**A/N: **Yeah, hey everyone! Wut up? Yuppers, I'm REALLY hyper right now! Actually, I doubt I can focus at all, which will suck for my story.

You wanna know why? Of course you do! I just saw Narnia 2 and I can't stop thinking about Prince Caspian! He. Is. So. Pretty. I love his eyes. :P Okay, I'll stop rambling and shut up. Here's the chappie!

* * *

Chapter 17: The Third Egg

The sun hid underground several hours ago; stars dotted the sky like fireflies, illuminating the barren desert. The pale white moon hung curved and crescent over the sand as Nasuada stared miserably out her window.

She pondered many a depressing thought over the past few hours, for nighttime tended to cause that reaction on her. In the early morning hours when it was still pitch black, she crept to Murtagh's quarters.

Sure, she could have waited until morning, but then she would easily be eavesdropped on, and she did _not_ want that. She silently opened her door and poked his shoulder. "Murtagh," she whispered.

Murtagh lay on his side. His breath came steady and quiet, as if his sleeping body did not want to disturb the silence of the cold desert night.

"_Murtagh,_" she said, louder this time.

Murtagh stirred and muttered something about orange kittens before turning to his stomach.

This time Nasuada shook him. "Murtagh!"

Murtagh yawned and gazed at the woman in front of him groggily. "Nasuada?" he moaned.

"Yeah. Listen, I really need to talk to you."

"It's like, three in the morning…"

She blushed. "I know, but…it's really important. I couldn't wait until the morning."

He sat up; she scrambled onto the mattress.

Murtagh took a few minutes to properly wake up. Once he did, he swung her legs over his and slunk his arms around her waist. "What seems to be the problem?"

Nasuada suddenly felt guilty. How could she wake him at such an murderous hour? "I'm sorry for pestering you."

"Always okay with me, Nas." He grinned.

Nasuada examined her feet. "Well, Murtagh, I've been thinking…" Tears leaked from her face. "I can't…you know, _do _this."

Murtagh looked taken aback, thus making Nasuada even more ashamed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh!" she snapped irritably, a habit that came out when she felt horrible about herself. "Think logically, Murtagh!"

Murtagh blinked. "What's logical about me loving you?"

Nasuada sighed shakily. It was the first time he put in words _I love you. _"I love you, too," she admitted. "But what about thirty years from now?"

Comprehension seemed to dawn on the man's face. "Your worried about your youth."

"Yes," she breathed.

"Well," said Murtagh gently. "I don't care if your one hundred and fifty-eight. You'll still be beautiful to me." He stroked her hair. "I have a feeling you'll age nicely, anyway." He winked.

Her mind was clouded by the gesture, but she refused to let him alter her focus. "Murtagh. Your going to live until your what, eight hundred? I'll be lucky to reach seventy."

A muscle tightened in Murtagh's jaw. "Don't say that."

"It's true. I'm not immortal. We don't live that long." Her eyes were streaming now. Rarely did she show much emotion. "I just can't imagine looking as old as your great-great grandmother and then being called your…" she shuddered. "_Lover._"

Murtagh glared at her for a long, painful moment. Then, he hugged her closer to him and kissed her cheek. "I promise, Nas, we _will_ find a way to make you live longer." He smiled. "Even though it's stupid. I'm just doing it to change your mind about leaving me."

Nasuada buried her face in his collarbone. She traced the structure of the bone with her fingers, feeling the hard, smooth, slightly sweaty surface under her fingertips. "Okay, one chance. If you blow it I'll have to break both our hearts." She closed her eyes and just dozed a moment, savoring it. She knew she would have to head back to her own room soon. "Not just for ourselves, but for the Varden. For the greater good."

* * *

Eragon raced through the corridors, his heart pounding. He needed to find Arya. _Where is she?_

Searching every nook and cranny of the palace, he finally found the raven haired elf in the library skimming a book with her defined liquid emerald eyes. "Arya, you'll never believe what Geneva just told me!" Words spilled from his mouth at an impossible speed; they slurred and sloshed together. "Mursada Sparsis wayzed-"

"Woah, Eragon," cautioned Arya. "Slow down."

Eragon took a deep, exasperated breath. "Geneva, one of the head servants, told me Murtagh came and stole Nasuada away from her decorating duties a few days before Roran's wedding. They went to the Sparkling Oasis and Nasuada came back, saturated in water and dazed. Said she fell in, but Geneva thinks Murtagh probably pushed her in. Then, only a few minutes later, a messenger came sprinting down the hall carrying orders for Nasuada to go to Murtagh's chambers _immediately_." He gasped for air dramatically, even though he wasn't the least bit tired. "There. That's my story."

Arya pondered what she heard. "Huh. Sparkling Oasis. You know what people do there?"

Eragon blinked. "Swim?"

Arya sighed. "You are _so_ naive sometimes! People get their first _kiss_ their. It's like the desert's little patch of heaven."

"You don't think they _kissed_, do you?"

"It's a possibility," murmured Arya. "You did say she came back dazed."

"Maybe it's because she was all wet? Women have the weirdest reactions to the weirdest things."

Arya glared at him and was about to shout something when she bit her lip.

"Temper," stated Eragon cautiously.

Arya counted to ten in her head and delivered Eragon a fake smile. "Temper," she agreed with a phony laugh.

* * *

The sun, now high in the sky, beat upon Surda like a merciless whip.

Nasuada and Eragon laid out two scrolls in the liege lord's study. One scroll contained a detail map of Alagaesia; the other painted a explicit picture of Uru'baen.

Nasuada placed a dark, slender finger on the little sign that said, "Jiet River." She grabbed a quill, dabbed it in black ink, and made a route from Surda to Uru'baen. "We must cross the river, but I doubt it will cause much delay."

Eragon nodded. "Don't you think it is too soon? We are short forces, too."

Nasuada grinned. "Aye, but you forget that he is without his greatest mercenary at the moment. Without Murtagh or Shruikan, the king will not stand a chance."

Eragon dwelled on this. "I suppose it could work. Saphira _did_ say he was weak with no dragon to defend him." He was silent for a second. "Murtagh will unleash an extraordinary amount of anger when he finds out he won't go."

Nasuada shrugged, then smirked. "He'll get over it." She tapped her upper lip. "Our main concern is Shruikan. As long as he is a factor, the king will not die."

"Hmm.." They both studied the maps on the desk; both trying to decipher the puzzle placed before them: how to distract Shruikan long enough to kill Galbatorix.

"Other dragons may keep him at bay," blurted Eragon. "But all we would have is Saphira."

Nasuada sighed. "'Tis true."

They contemplated, and meditated, and contemplated, and meditated some more, until they were all contemplated and meditated out.

Nasuada rubbed her eyes.

"Get some rest, Nasuada. Go take a nap."

Nasuada sighed anew. "If you insist, but this cannot be procrastinated."

Eragon nodded. "I know. And it won't be."

Just as Nasuada began drifting towards the exit, a messenger boy rapped on the door and slipped into the _private_ study. "Word from Lady Arya," recited the scruffy boy. "The third dragon egg has arrived from the elves."

Eragon raised an eyebrow and turned to his liege. "How did it get here if she didn't transport it?"

"Arya claims it was carried by an elf known as 'Vanir.' They left the egg in your chamber."

Nasuada smiled and went to pull out a spare coin from her desk drawer. She handed the money to the messenger. "You did well," she complemented.

The scruffy boy blushed. "Thank you, ma'am." He bit the metal in between his fuzzy front teeth, grinned and claimed it to be genuine, then dashed out of the study.

Nasuada yawned. "I should probably go examine the egg's condition before I rest."

Eragon agreed. "I'll go with you."

One their way to Nasuada's room, they bumped into Murtagh- literally.

"Owe, Eragon!" pouted the oldest brother, massaging his head. "Why do you always have to be such a popinjay?"

Eragon blinked. "What the bloody hell is a popinjay?"

Murtagh grinned. "No idea. Nas?"

Nasuada shrugged. "I know what it is, but I don't feel like telling you."

All three burst out laughing. They stumbled into Nasuada's room, and the merriment abruptly stopped as they gazed, transfixed at the emerald egg in front of them.

Murtagh walked up to it and nudged it with his index finger. "It seems stable enough." He hoisted it and examined for scratches. "Nope, perfect shape!" Acting entirely on impulse, he pivoted and thrust it in front of Nasuada. "Touch it!"

Nasuada stared at him, dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Cause I want to see what will happen," he explained.

Nasuada arched an eyebrow. "Does this count as your chance?"

Eragon glanced at both of them alternately, completely confused.

"No," said Murtagh nonchalantly. "I just want to see what will happen. Is that a crime?"

Nasuada ripped the egg from his grasp and examined it. Something bubbly boiled inside her as she touched it. Her fingers ran across the webbed forest green and white veins. She decided she liked the smooth, cool touch of the shell. It was refreshing in the desert. She held it to her face. It didn't smell at all. She rattled it, but she couldn't hear anything. She remained gazing at it for a short span of time, the rest of the world forgotten. It was like a miniature watermelon that you couldn't crack open. She grinned stupidly to herself. "I bet it doesn't taste as good," she muttered to no one in particular.

"Than lick it!" snickered Murtagh childlishly. He chuckled at the expression on her face.

"Yuck!" she spat. "You've been in here too long, boys! I need a nap. Besides, there could be lady things in here that aren't meant for male eyes," she added, just to see if it would scare them.

It certainly worked, for both boys raced out of her room so quickly she could almost see the smoke coming from their heels. She laughed and placed the egg on her white night stand and crawled into her large burgundy bed; she soon fell asleep. Images of young, ageless, beautiful, perfect dragon riders in love with ugly, warty, greasy old maids haunted her wild dreams.

* * *

She was woken up by a noise rattling from her night stand. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and stared drunkenly at the white colored furniture piece. Then, realizing the sound came from the emerald egg, she instantly shot out of bed. She ran to the corner off her room farthest away from the emerald watermelon and tried to control her breathing. Her dress was wrinkled; she slept fully clothed.

_I've got to get a dragon rider to help me._ Maybe she wasn't the first in Surda to touch the egg. Maybe the messenger boy had slipped into her room after he brought her news to feel it. She inched towards the door steadily, acutely aware that the egg was practically dancing.

She scurried down the hall and knocked on Murtagh's door. "Murtagh!" she screamed. "Please be there!" She felt the vibration of his boots from the other side of the entrance and knew he would answer the door. Judging by the quickness of the vibration, he was nearly running.

The door shot open. "Nas!" exclaimed Murtagh, anxious. "What's the matter! Are you hurt?"

"No! Well, kinda."

He gave her a quizzical look.

She grabbed his strong hand in her feminine one. "Just come here." She yanked him to her chamber.

Murtagh stared in shock at the sight before him. Then, his face broke in to a joyous grin. "Nas," he whispered. "You're a dragon rider."

"Well," she said, "that postpones our battles plans…" They watched as the egg bounced up and down until finally-

_CRACK!_ It split open and out popped a cute, tinny, skinny dragon hatchling with emerald scales and forest green eyes.

"Touch it," said Murtagh quietly, the smile never leaving his face.

Slowly and nervously, she bent over and placed her right palm on the dragon's forehead. She snatched it back, hissing in pain. She teetered, then fainted.

* * *

She woke up in Murtagh's grasp a few minutes later. Her head was on his lap, and he was propped against the wall, the same ridiculous grin on his face. "Nas," he repeated, thrilled. "You're a dragon rider!"

She huffed. "What's your point?"

He kept grinning. "My point is," he said, bending over and softly kissing her. "My point _is_, well," his grin, if possible, widened. "We just found a way to make you live longer!"

Then, it dawned on her. She _was_ a _dragon rider_.

Murtagh closed his eyes and traced her jaw with his fingertips. "You won't have to break my heart after all."

* * *

**A/N:** Yay! I got the chapter done in one sitting! Woot! Okay, please, please, PLEASE reiview! And I want to let you know, I redid some of chapter 3 'cuz people kept telling me stuff I did wrong about the Raz'ac, so I finally took the time to revise it! YAY!

PLEASE REVIEW! Tell meh if you liked it, and I'll love you for all eternity! :D

Oh, and I meant to have some Murtagh/Katrina in here (no joke, totally serious) but it just didn't happen. ;; I think I'll make a separate short story based just on them, but idk if I should. Anyway, review! And don't forget to check out the revised chappie!


	18. When in Doubt, Get Murtagh Drunk

**A/N:** OMG OMG OMG! OVER 200 REVIEWS!! (dies) That's like, 150 more than I suspected I would have by now! Thank-you **EVERYONE** who reviewed! (gapes) 200 REVIEWS! (jumps up in down on a McFlurry high)

* * *

Chapter 18: When in Doubt, Get Murtagh Drunk

A few days later, Eragon and Murtagh were spending "quality time" together.

"You know what I _never_ understood?" said Eragon.

"No," replied a bored Murtagh. "What?"

"Why your name is pronounced Mur-_tag_ instead of Mur-_taug_."

Murtagh mulled over his brother's reasoning for a moment. "Because," he answered. "Mur-taug rhymes with warthog, and Mur-tag rhymes with price tag."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense." He grinned. "Better Price Tag than Warthog!"

Murtagh growled and muttered something darkly that sounded something like, "You're such an rump."

Eragon yanked at his brother's hair. "Get up. We're going out."

Murtagh was lounging in a chair munching on some brunch. "Where? And why the sudden desire to go somewhere?"

Eragon laughed nonchalantly. "It's too stuffy and stressful in the palace. I want out." He buckled on his tan tunic and forcefully hoisted Murtagh out of his seat.

"You still haven't answered my question," commented Murtagh as he slipped into his black boots. "Where are we going?"

Eragon shrugged. "Don't know. Whatever they have around Surda, I guess. I want to explore. Besides, Oromis said people would know you were innocent if you were seen outside the palace. You haven't exactly made a public appearance."

Sighing, Murtagh said, "That's because only a part of Surda witnessed my trial. Most people still would hand their soul to Galbatorix just to see me executed."

"Your too dramatic," pouted the youngest. "It's not like that. Most people know your all right."

"Uh huh."

Eragon huffed and pulled his brother out to the courtyard. "Don't you get hot wearing all black?"

"Yes."

"Than why do you do it?"

Murtagh's jaw tightened. 'Because I _like_ black. You have a problem with that?" They exited the castle grounds. Murtagh, acutely aware of the glares and the murderous looks he received from the villagers, blushed and murmured, "Please, can I go back, Eragon?"

"Why?" pestered Eragon. "It's good for you to get some fresh air. You need it." He scrutinized Murtagh's arm he was gripping. There was still a faint yellow tint barely noticeable, but nonetheless it was there. He was happy to see Murtagh had gained a few pounds, thus hiding his ribs, but he remained anorexic looking. "Especially after being cooped up in a bloody cell for two and a half weeks."

Murtagh stared down towards the ground. _Let's just get it over with…_He knew his cheeks burned humiliatingly, but Eragon didn't seem to notice, so it couldn't have been _that_ obvious. He tilted his head so his bangs fell forward and draped across his face until his skin resumed its natural color.

Eragon chauffeured Murtagh to a bar in the outskirts of the city near the border. "Let's go here!"

Murtagh read the water damaged (which was odd- there wasn't any water in Surda) wooden sign that said _Gutheroy's Tavern and Inn._ He felt Eragon drag him into the tavern. "All right, all right, I'm coming!" As they walked through the door, all eyes turned on them briefly, but other than that they were ignored.

They sat in stools in front of the counter; a bartender walked toward them with a rag in his hand and grease splattering his face. "What can I get you two gentlemen?"

Murtagh rested his head on his hand, appearing bored, while Eragon ordered to mugs of mead. "This place stinks," complained Murtagh, twisting a brown lock of hair around his finger.

Eragon sighed dramatically. "Get over it." He grinned. "You'll change your mind after a few drinks."

* * *

Murtagh hiccuped- he hadn't drank that much alcohol since before the Burning Plains. His mind was pleasantly foggy, and his eyes shifted in and out of focus.

Eragon grinned. "So, you like this place?" Being heavier and less frail, he tolerated more alcohol than the eldest.

Murtagh, although as drunk as a dog, was no worse off than the rest of the customers. He hiccuped again. It was a surprisingly high pitched hiccup, one not expected from Murtagh, who had one of the most mature and deepest voices in Alagaesia. "Another one," he snapped to the bartender.

The bartender, named Justice, shot a glance at Eragon. "Don't let him get lost on his way out." He eyes trailed to Murtagh before handing him what must have been his fiftieth cup of mead. "Rough day I take it?"

Murtagh opened his mouth to speak, but Eragon cut him off. "Very. Work at the palace. So hectic in there!" He took a sip from his mead. "Needed a little release, if you know what I mean."

Justice nodded. "Aye, I hear they have the Red Rider locked up there. I also heard the judge let him off- let him off! Messed up judge if you ask me."

Eragon glanced at Murtagh nervously, but his brother was too drunk to be ashamed and just laughed.

"Yuppers. Done a lot of bad things. Helluva handful," put in Murtagh. "You'll never believe what I did a few days ago-"

Eragon kicked him.

"Owe!" Pouted Murtagh. "Eragon, you popinjay-"

"You got that word from Nasuada, now stop using it! We don't even know what it means! How do you even know it's an insult? For all you know popinjay could mean rabbit."

Murtagh shrugged stupidly.

Justice's eyes widened. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know you were the great Eragon Shadeslayer!" He handed Eragon a large slab of meat. "For you and your friend, on the house."

"No, thank-you, though. I think I'll have enough trouble escorting him back to the palace…"

Murtagh hiccuped yet again. "Friend!" he said incredulously, his words slurring. "I'm not just his friend, I'm his-"

Eragon smashed him hard in the calf with his foot, causing Murtagh to jump in pain. "I think we should go."

Justice nodded and didn't ask for a tip or the bill. He smiled at Eragon, shook his hand, and gazed at Murtagh sympathetically. "Hope things go better."

Murtagh grinned. "Me too."

Eragon swung Murtagh's arm over his shoulder and helped him teeter out the door as countless others had done that night to their comrades. Once they exited the bar, they realized they had spent well past what they planned in there. The moon hung in the sky.

Murtagh's dark figure stumbled along until finally about half a mile away he swayed and collapsed, giggling bubbly. "Where are we?"

"A ways away from the palace." Suddenly, something occurred to Eragon:

Murtagh needed to vent his emotions. When he was unbelievably drunk, he let things he normally kept bottled up escape.

Eragon plopped himself down in front of his drunk brother, amazingly completely sober. The alcohol hadn't done it's job on the youngest. "Murtagh, I have a few questions I think only you can answer. Will you tell me?"

Murtagh had a feeling that wasn't a good sign, but he didn't really care. "Sure," he hiccuped.

"What does Galbatorix do in his spare time?" tested Eragon. He already knew the answer, for he had seen it in his brother's mind.

Murtagh slurred, "Tortures prisoners and plays chess."

"Good," said Eragon, pleased Murtagh passed with flying colors. Not it was time for the real interrogation…

"Murtagh," said Eragon conversationally, trying to avoid suspicion. "You fancy Nasuada?"

There was a anxious moment when Murtagh's clouded mind tried to figure out what the question was. Finally, he garbled, "Aye. She's pretty."

Eragon's heart flipped inside his chest. He might actually get something out of this! "Umm…what did you do at the Sparkling Oasis when you and Nasuada went in the night?"

Murtagh yawned and rubbed his eyes. "You ask too many questions! Makes my brain hurt." He rubbed his skull.

"Please, just answer!"

Murtagh sighed, then he smirked, his eyes out of focus. "We wrestled."

Eragon blinked. Did he just hear him right? "You…_wrestled?_"

Murtagh chuckled. "Yeah! She almost drowned me!" He giggled again, drumming a random beat on his stomach for a few second.

"She tried to kill you?"

"Nah, we were just foolin' around!" He still giggled, only this time hysterically. "It was so much fun."

"Is that all you did?"

"No, sirrrr," slurred Murtagh.

Eragon's heart raced. "What else?"

Murtagh yawned again. "Can you finish your question tomorrow? I'm tired."

Eragon looked at him, frantic. "No! Murtagh," he said, shaking his brother, whom began giggling again. 'Tell me now."

Murtagh shrugged. "Nothing, really. We just-" he yawned. "We just kissed."

Eragon's eyes widened. "Murtagh," he said sternly. "Are you courting Nasuada?"

"I'm so sick of questions! Lemme sleep," he muttered.

"Please, just tell me. Are you courting her?"

Murtagh closed his eyes and laid down on the dirt. "Yuppers."

* * *

"This isn't good," stated Arya the following morning. "You know what this means, don't you? We'll have to break them up."

Eragon nodded, determinedly. Now he knew: when in doubt, get Murtagh drunk. _Eragon,_ chided Saphira's voice in his head. _I don't think this is such a good idea._

_Why not? He knew the consequences when he began courting her! He should've told himself he couldn't._

_He's so happy when she's around, _explained Saphira. _They've done a good job hiding it. _

Eragon mentally growled. _You need to think about what's more important: the fate of Alagaesia or a romance story._

_You need to set your priorities straight. Did you not swear to yourself that if it was the last thing you'd do, you'd free Murtagh from Galbatorix?_

_What does that have to do with anything!_

_I'm just saying,_ said Saphira calmly._ That you need to discover what is most important in your life. You have two options- you can see a man, your _brother_, that hardly ever smiles-_

_Except for last night,_ snapped Eragon, remembering how bubbly Murtagh had been.

_-And used to cut himself for once in his life be happy, or your second choice is to cut off all romantic ties between him and Nasuada and focus more on bloodshed and saving the nation._

_I'll focus on the nation, thank-you very much._ He sighed. _I've gotten used to Murtagh being miserable. It breaks my heart. When he is happy, it is a nice change- but if his happiness effects the war negatively, I'll see to it he stays miserable. _His thoughts sounded cruel even to himself, but he knew it was for the greater good.

Saphira did not reply.

_Saphira?_ He called.

All he received was the cold shoulder.

"Eragon?" said Arya. "Did you hear me?"

"No," he apologized. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'you should talk to him about this by tomorrow at the latest.'"

Eragon appeared taken aback. "So quickly?"

"We are planning an invasion, Eragon. We must act quickly. Why not bring it up after Nasuada's training today?"

Eragon sighed; he nodded. "Okay."

* * *

Murtagh was in a particularly grumpy mood during training session. He consumed earlier a few pain subsiding herbs, so he tolerated his headache, but Eragon insisted he watch from the sidelines as he tried to get Nasuada to light a small piece of shrubbery on fire using magic.

"What's up your ass, Murtagh?" pried Nasuada.

"Shush!" snapped the eldest, massaging his temples. "Why must you be so loud?"

"Hang over," whispered Eragon into Nasuada's ear.

The Varden leader arched an eyebrow. "You drank yesterday? Since when did I know about this?" She snickered. "I would have _loved_ to see how you act wasted."

"No," stated Eragon confidently. "No you don't."

Murtagh glared at him. "At least I don't chuck _swords_ when I'm stoned. Hopefully you haven't inherited that."

Eragon sighed, his mind too busy to fight with his brother…yet. "I didn't, don't worry. I've been drunk plenty of times. The worse I've ever done was be ignorant of the consequences."

This made Murtagh chuckle. "I'm never ignorant; I just don't care."

Nasuada watched them with interest. It preoccupied her from the intensely frustrating job of lighting up the plant.

After an hour of unsuccessfully unlocking the magic from the women's mind, the three agreed to resume their training the following day. As they filed out of the courtroom where their training session took place, Eragon beckoned Murtagh. "Wait here for I second, I need to… talk to you."

Murtagh's face looked worried and concerned. "I don't like that tone," he said. "You sound nervous. You okay?"

"Yes, Murtagh, I am fine." He sighed. Murtagh's expression made him feel terrible about what would happen. He sat on the floor; Murtagh followed suit. "Murtagh-" He couldn't say it.

He couldn't say it.

He _Had _to say it. _Just get it over with._

"So," he began nonchalantly. "I found out what popinjay meant. I guess it _is_ an insult after all! It means a "vain and talkative person," according to King Orrin.

"What's a matter, Eragon? You can tell me." Murtagh said, cutting to the important information. He placed an anxious hand on his brother's shoulder. Whatever the youngest had to say, it must've been important. Otherwise Eragon wouldn't be making small talk.

_Just say it…Get it over with. JUST SAY IT!_

"I know about you and Nasuada," he blurted.

A long silence ensued, until Murtagh finally said, "What?"

"I know. About you. And Nasuada. Courting…"

Murtagh remained deathly still and quiet. He blanched. "How do…?"

Eragon stared at his boots guiltily. "I…I interrogated you after you…you know, got stoned. You spill all your secrets when your drunk." He fidgeted and felt Murtagh's gaze weighing him down like a boulder.

"Where is this going?" Murtagh finally inquired.

Eragon felt a lump in his throat, temporarily preventing sound from escaping. "Murtagh…"

"Yes?"

He gave a shaky sigh. "I think it would be best if you two… stopped… seeing… each other."

Murtagh stood up. "What!" He took a step back, utterly shocked. "What gives you a right to say such a thing!"

"Murtagh," snapped Eragon, his voice gaining strength due to his brother's reaction. "It's best for the Varden! If you two get caught there's no telling what would happen!"

Murtagh faltered and massaged his temples again. Too much shouting…

"You don't get it, do you! Terrible things could happen! The Varden would be outraged and accuse you of bewitching her-"

"But I didn't!"

"It doesn't _matter._ They'll still blame you and then you'll be _hung_, or _stoned_, or even possibly _burned_ to death, and none of us who truly know you were innocent wouldn't have any say in the matter!"

"I don't _care_ what happens to me," he growled.

"Yes, you do. If you didn't, you would have let me kill you on the Burning Plains." It seemed so long ago, when really it was only a moths or so.

Murtagh's expression stung Eragon's core. It wasn't angry or hateful; it was hurt. He never should have brought back such terrible memories, but he needed to make his point. "You have to admit it, Murtagh. You care so _much_ about yourself. You wouldn't just allow yourself to get rocks thrown at you over some petty _courting_ issue!"

"If I cared so much about myself," said Murtagh quietly. "I would have taken you back to Uru'baen."

"No," said Eragon coolly. "That's where you're wrong. You were selfish _there, _too. _You_ needed the reassurance that _you_ still existed underneath all that cold armor; _that's_ why you released me."

"You're wrong!" shouted Murtagh, completely ignoring his pulsating head. "You can't imagine why I freed you Eragon. I freed you because I didn't want you end up like me. You _know_ that. You examined my memories!"

"I skipped over that one," admitted the youngest. "I was there, and I knew what you did. No need reliving such horrors."

"Until now," said Murtagh angrily.

Eragon could almost see Murtagh's Adams apple vibrating with unshed growls. "Until now. You're being selfish Murtagh! You're putting yourself over the war!"

"Maybe I'm not," defied the oldest, though doubt seeped through his voice. It never seriously occurred to him how selfish he was acting. He _was_ being unbelievably self-centered. He was putting so much at stake just for his _own_ happiness.

"Yes, you are! You just don't get it! You're being so selfish! You don't know all the terrible things that could happen because of this, do you?"

"If I didn't, I wouldn't have kept it a _secret_. You know what a _secret_ is, Eragon? Something you don't intend people to know about."

"Well, you sure as hell didn't have a problem letting me know last night!" Eragon inhaled deeply, trying to control himself. "Listen," he said, his voice controlled. "I'm just thinking about what's best for you. I don't want to see you dead. I care about you. _I don't want to see you dead._ I'm saying this for you."

Murtagh's face turned emotionless. Like an impenetrable stone wall. "No, Eragon," he said softly. "You're not doing this for me. You're doing this for the Varden. If you cared about me, you'd let me court her. She makes me happier than I've felt in over a year."

"Murtagh," said Eragon, exhausted sounding. "I care about you. I know for a fact, you need to stop seeing her. It's best; you know this."

"I'd rather be happy that be alive. If you cared about me, you'd let me be happy."

"Murtagh, listen to me," he stared deeply into his brother's eyes, gripping his shoulders. "Ditch. Her. _It's best for you._"

"No. It's not best for _me_. It's best for _the Varden. _It's best for _you_. It's best for your _saintly reputation_. We don't want your _demonic_ brother ruining that _saintly_ reputation of yours, do we?"

With that, Murtagh headed to his chambers, leaving a stunned Eragon alone in the courtroom.

* * *

**A/N:** Yay! Another chappie done! I admit that the beginning was suppose to be just foolin around kinda fun turned sour.

**PLEASE** review! I know I have a lot, but I still need feedback, otherwise well…yeah…it won't be good. I really want to know what you'll think! This little fight will be essential for later on. . PLEASE review! An thank-you, yet again, for all of those who took the time to review past chapters! I owe you a million! Give me suggestions, flames, criticism, good reviews, whatever! I just want to read what you said because I love reading your imput! (especially if its a suggestion)

**Oh, and HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND!**


	19. Glass Shards

**A/N**: Thanks to everyone who reviewed A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I hops you had a great memorial day weekend! Okay, here's the next chappie! And - oh, goodie! It's the set up to the climax! But the climax will not be what you think…

(evil cackle)

By the way, I didn't give much bonding time between Nasuada and her dragon. I'm sorry about that, but I seem to have a lack of writing skill when it comes to love of any type, and I just needed to get the story moving along. I honest and for truly SUCK at affection kinda stuff. I write angst all the way!

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon**

* * *

Chapter 19: Glass Shards

Murtagh fingered the golden ring moodily. He sat on his bed with his feet crossed, glaring at the engagement ring. Little crystals embedded the sides and a large diamond on the top attracted the eye most. In side the ring were the encrusted words in calico writing were the words _My Chocolate Angel_.

He bitterly walked to his balcony, which oversaw the fountain in the courtyard. He drew back his hand and prepared to chuck the ring.

But he couldn't let go of it.

"Too valuable," he muttered, trying to convince himself that that was the reason he couldn't throw it away. He thrust it in a pocket inside his tunic.

It had been almost a week. Eragon and he still couldn't meet face to face without speaking oddly civil. They were too polite to each other; obviously, neither had forgotten their argument the weak before.

Murtagh relayed their conversation to Nasuada, and they both miserably agreed to stop courting until it was safer for her political career and his life to do so. Murtagh was back to his glum, brooding self and had attempted to sneak down to the kitchens a few times, only to be scolded by Thorn.

He hadn't felt so terrible and upset since the day he swore allegiance to Galbatorix. He wasn't one to cry, but nonetheless he actually found himself near hyperventilation at that moment. He stared depressed and cold outside his balcony.

He knew the one thing that could comfort him.

* * *

In the dead of the night, Murtagh slipped out of bed. Bags draped under his eyes like purple canoes. He was so anxious he received no sleep. He tiptoed stealthily down to the kitchen. He felt so triumphant.

Thorn was asleep. No one would stop him.

He sneaked through the large door labeled KITCHEN. His eyes, now adjusted to the darkness, took in the shapes of watermelons, cantaloupes, several variations of fruits left out from dinner. _Weird,_ he thought. _Why didn't they clean this up?_ He silently sifted through cabinets, all the while mentally praying no one would hear him. Until… finally!

He pulled open a drawer with steely knives of all sizes and models within it. He gently picked each one up, examining it with a critique eye until he found a small one he doubt the cooks would realize was missing. He grinned and hid it in his shirt greedily and hurried back to his room for a gore filled night. He couldn't wait for the thrill he would receive when the-

_**MURTAGH MORZANSSON WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING! SHIT, MURTAGH IF I FIND YOU HIDING A KNIFE AGAIN I ASSURE YOU I'LL MAKE YOU'RE LIFE A VERITABLE HELL!** _Thorn was absolutely furious.

_Thorn,_ sighed Murtagh. _You're awake… pleasure._

_What are you doing with that knife?_

_I was going to cut my hair…_

_At three in the morning?_ Scolded the dragon. _Murtagh,_ the tone was unmistakable. It was a no longer angry. It seemed sad and disappointed. _Why?_

"It's how I cope," said the rider out loud.

_Please don't._

Murtagh sighed. _All right._ He crept back into the kitchen and returned the sharp tool. He meandered back to his bedroom, plopping onto the mattress. _I'm sorry, Thorn. Forgive me?_

_This is the last time. I catch you again, and you're dead. I'll kill you myself._

Murtagh gave a halfhearted chuckled and closed his eyes. _Goodnight, Thorn. I love you._

_I love you, too._

Murtagh lay in bed for a few minutes, taking in his surroundings. A newly acquired mirror stared straight back at him. He grinned, imagining himself breaking the glass and watching the jagged shards fall to the floor with loud yet delicate _clinks_.

_Jagged shards. _He fell asleep smiling sadistically.

Knives weren't the only things good for cutting.

* * *

"I feel _terrible_," cried Eragon in the courtyard as he and Arya took a slow walk discussing his brother and Nasuada and Arya's temper problems.

"It's for the best," stated Arya emotionlessly.

"You don't get it, Arya. I. Feel. _Terrible._" Eragon seriously had no idea how he would ever forgive himself. He tried to shove his guilty thoughts away, and usually it worked, but then Saphira would go and say something like, _How's Murtagh?_ and his shame would begin anew.

Arya, realizing how troubled Eragon was by this, embraced him warmly murmuring, "It's okay," and patting his back.

Eragon returned the hug, thanking her as they parted.

_Well,_ chided his dragon,_ At least something good came out of this. Arya let you hug her._

_Damn,_ spat Eragon mentally. _Why are you doing this to me?_

_Doing what?_ She inquired angelically.

_You know what,_ growled her rider.

* * *

_**CRASH!**_ Murtagh's reflection shattered into a million pieces as the mirror remnants tumbled to the floor. Quickly, he hid a decent sized shard inside his tunic where no one would see it, making sure the point didn't prod him.

He heard several pairs of feet scurrying down the hall, and sat down by the broken mirror, cradling his head. "What was that?" snapped Geneva as she, Nasuada, and a few other servants rushed to his room.

"I stumbled and the mirror crashed down on me," Murtagh said convincingly, still holding his scalp as if protecting it.

"Are you okay?" questioned Nasuada worriedly.

"Yeah," said Murtagh, alas raising his head. "I don't think any hit me. I'm all good." He stood upright and staggered a little for show.

Geneva sighed. "Seven bad years of luck right there."

_Are you all right, Murtagh?_ came the worried voice of Thorn.

_Fine,_ replied Murtagh. He felt horrible deceiving Thorn, but his dragon just didn't get it. He couldn't stop. It was his release. It made all the other pain go away. _I'm not hurt._

_Okay, just checking. Love you._

_Love you, too._ It was as if someone had reached into Murtagh's chest and wrung out his heart when he sad this. He hoped Thorn wouldn't notice the guilt in his mind.

Geneva began picking up the mirror, unaware that a piece was missing.

* * *

"We're leaving tomorrow," said Eragon politely as he strutted in to Murtagh's room.

Murtagh blinked, confused. "Leaving where?"

"For Uru'baen," replied Eragon, as if this were obvious. He fixed his gaze on a silver knob on Murtagh's bed. "Have you not been paying attention? We've been rallying up troops for a full week. Nasuada just gave a pep talk about an hour ago. We leave tonight."

Murtagh stared at his brother in utter shock. They were leaving already? "But… Valeo isn't even grown yet."

"Yes. But Galbatorix doesn't have you right now. You're valuable to our _victory_. We can't wait until Nasuada's dragon, Valeo, is fully grown. You might be go back to the king by then. _Unwillingly_, of course," Eragon added hastily.

"So why are _we _leaving tonight? And what will happen to Valeo?"

Eragon sighed. "First, Valeo will stay here. _You_ will be watching him along with Thorn. They could use some bonding time."

Murtagh gaped at Eragon. _Did I just here him right?_ "What do you mean, 'You'll be watching Valeo?'"

Eragon explained formally, "That is why no one has told you yet, Murtagh. You're not going. You have to stay here, for if you go we fear that you will be tight under his grip again."

Murtagh couldn't believe what he was hearing. He wanted to fight, but he knew what Eragon said was true, and, quite frankly, he didn't really _want_ to leave Surda. Sure, most people were hostile towards him, and the weather was either unbearably scorching hot or frigid cold, but he could still feel Galbatorix dully in his mind. It was like a constant throb that was so weak and inanimate he could easily tolerate it. It was like the headache that would never go away but was always so gentle that the throbbing never seriously hurt. It was obvious Galbatorix did not have such a strong hold on him with the distance - usually the throbbing was harsher and more pressurized. Like a boa constricted wrapping itself around his brain securely and tightening when Murtagh displeased it. But, nonetheless, Galbatorix still could monitor his whereabouts - and, if close enough, control his actions. "And I have no say in the matter?"

"No," Eragon said slowly. "Murtagh, Nasuada has ordered you to stay here. You don't have a choice."

"All right," Murtagh mumbled. "But if anything goes wrong, I don't want the townsfolk to blame me."

"They won't," said Eragon firmly, still eyeing the spot on Murtagh's bed. "I'll make sure they won't when I get back."

Murtagh nodded. "How many troops do you have rounded up?"

"Enough," replied Eragon. "About ten thousand."

Murtagh examined his feet worriedly. "That's really not many."

"I know, but I have faith in our leader." There was a short pause, then Eragon kicked up his heel and headed for the doorway. "Farewell, Murtagh," he said curtly, his voice strained.

"Eragon?"

Eragon turned around and stared into his brothers eyes for the first time the whole meeting. "Yes?"

"Be careful," said Murtagh seriously. "Don't try to be the hero, okay? You can't save everybody."

Eragon gave Murtagh a weak smile, lightening the atmosphere some. "I'll try." Then he left without another word.

* * *

Nasuada stood upon the castle balcony. Thousands of soldiers stood below her, waiting for a speech. As she walked out of the shadow in the palace and sunlight beat down on her, illuminating her dark ebony skin, the soldiers cheered. Some of the higher ranking officers were garbed in uniforms of red and white bearing the pale gray Varden crest, but most of the men were wearing dirty farmers clothes and worn out leather boots. _That's all they are. Men fighting side by side._ She hoped with all her heart her generals had trained them properly. They had been working for several months just preparing for the final battle.

"Men," she began loudly, strongly, like a good leader would. "Soldiers. Some of you are as young as fourteen. Others are graying at a remarkable pace."

The crowd chuckled.

_Good, loosen the, up._ "But everyone here has the same goal: To see the downfall of Galbatorix!"

The crowd cheered and hailed her words.

"And so, men, I must tell you - we march come sunrise to Uru'baen to finish this war once and for all!"

More hoots and hollers rumbled Surda like a raging earthquake.

_Excellent,_ thought Nasuada. _Keep it simple._ "And now I say, prepare your families, celebrate tonight, drink yourselves stupid - but not _too_ stupid, for we need you to be able to navigate tomorrow morning - and do only Helzvog knows what tonight, and I'll see you at the break of dawn at edge of Surda!"

More cheering. The men started to file out as Nasuada's long skirts swept away from the balcony and towards a set of large marble palace stairs.

She scurried down the spiral steps, reaching the bottom and dashing out the palace doors a few moments later, headed to the Dragon Hold by the courtyard. As she entered, she spotted a tiny green dragon with sparkling eyes and a playful look about him. "Valeo!" she exclaimed, swiping him into her arms.

Valeo was already twice the size he appeared the weak before. Nasuada received raging and constant hunger pains that she learnt from the other riders was from Valeo, and she feared the baby dragon would cause her to gain several pounds on her slender hips. She scowled at him teasingly. "Can't you ever stop eating?"

He nibbled her hand affectionately, then growled a high pitched baby growl.

Nasuada laughed. "My, Valeo, _very_ manly and intimidating. We really need to work on that snarl of yours." She scratched him behind a white ivory spike on the center of his back, right where he liked it.

Valeo was adorable, if strangely skinny. He had a habit of flexing his little ivory claws and snapping at flies that swarmed in the sweltering heat. His emerald scales shimmered in the dusty light of the Dragon Hold, and his beautiful green eyes were every shade of the sea. He yawned and nuzzled Nasuada's chest, burying his face.

"Gods, you're cute. And a great pain in the ass." She turned her gaze to Thorn and Saphira, who seemed to be getting along very well. Perhaps too well. "How are you two today?"

_Fine,_ came two voices in her head simultaneously. "Are you enjoying baby-sitting, Thorn?"

_Very pleasant,_ came a sarcastic voice. _He's a rather large pain._

Valeo bared his teeth proudly, causing Nasuada to giggle again. "You'll be staying here with Thorn tomorrow, won't that be nice?"

Valeo growled, and Nasuada knew he was laughing.

* * *

Sunrise came painfully quick.

Murtagh watched helplessly as Nasuada and the troops marched on towards the Jiet River. He wanted so desperately to be with him, but at the same time he didn't. He ran a long, thin, recently tanned hand through his dark hair. He didn't even _know_ what he wanted anymore. He wandered to the Dragon Hold, talked with Thorn, entered his room and twiddled his thumbs, and doodled on a piece of parchment. He couldn't pull out the shard of glass simply because Thorn was awake. _Thorn…_

The more Murtagh thought about, the less he wanted to slice up his hip or wrists or whatever he felt like slicing. He rarely felt guilt, but Thorn was one of the few people he loved that actually loved him back. He pondered it most of the day, his thoughts blocked from his dragon, and he decided.

Enough cutting. It was time to stop.

* * *

Crickets croaked and sand blew in the night wind. Murtagh walked around the courtyard moodily. Where was the army by now? He remembered seeing Eragon soar through the sky earlier that day on Saphira. So happy, so relieved, so careless, so…

_Free._

The thought of his slavery made Murtagh yell out in frustration. He picked up a nearby pebble in the courtyard and chucked it at the palace, hearing it bounce of harmlessly against the sturdy walls. He just wanted to hit something! Out of all the men in the Empire, _he_ was the traitor, _he_ was the slave. It wasn't fair!

_Calm down, Murtagh. Quit feeling sorry for yourself._

_I'm sorry Thorn,_ he sighed. _I just…can't take it. It's so overwhelming sometimes, you know?_

_Yes,_ soothed Thorn. _I know. It will be all over soon, though, young one. Don't worry._

_Technically I'm older than you,_ spat Murtagh, but he was smiling.

_Yes,_ laughed Thorn. _But I'm far wiser._

_Whatever._ His mood increased some. Thorn always lit up his spirits.

Thorn chuckled.

Murtagh continued walking aimlessly for what seemed like hours. Suddenly, he heard the noise of footsteps behind him. He immediately turned around. "Who's there?"

A man came out of the darkness and slashed his sword across Murtagh's stomach, leaving a thin, streaming red line.

Murtagh clutched his abdomen and staggered, which was just enough time for the attacker to make a move.

_Whack!_ Murtagh felt something solid collide with his skull seconds prior to a cloth bag being placed over his head and tied with what felt like a thick rope.

The last thing he heard before he seeped into unconsciousness was Trianna's all-too-familiar cackle and the feeling and strong hands lifting him over someone's back. He struggled, but before long he felt the familiar cloud numbing his mind as he fell asleep.

* * *

**A/N: **Ah, and there's the next chappie. A CLIFFIE! MUAHAHAHAHAHA! Yeah, things are finally moving! Sorry this was so short and well, dumb, but…yeah… I really hoped it turned out okay. Will you tell me if this was totally lame, please? Oh, And Valeo is "strength" in Latin. :D And finally, I pronounced it Val-ae-oh. Just to let you know for future reference. :D

_**PLEASE REVIEW!!**_


	20. The Attack Begins

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Really! I love you guys. If it wasn't for you I would have ceased this account long ago! Limh.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Eragon

* * *

Chapter 20: The Attack Begins

Eragon spun through the Jiet River, scouting the way sitting on Saphira for the troops. He couldn't help but feel as if something terribly awry had occurred. It had been two days since they left Surda.

_It's probably nothing,_ soothed Saphira.

Eragon nodded and shoved the emotion aside. He turned around as he reached a wide clearing and headed back towards Nasuada's army, which was about twenty or so miles behind him. The sky was pink as the sun faded below the earth and puffy orange clouds swarmed the heavens. He always felt so amazed as he stared into the sky. He could never get used to its beauty.

After about half an hour, Saphira landed a few hundred feet away from the marching men and Eragon sprinted over to Nasuada.

She appeared unbelievably breathtaking in her armor. Lovely, that's for sure, but fierce. Her silver helm, of the finest making, was tied to her horse's side as she journeyed onward, he booted feet bouncing up and down with the slow and steady rhythm of her steed. The farmers had traded in their dirty clothes for swords and mail, looking oddly professional in their even, stomping rows.

"Nasuada, the way seems to be all clear. Nothing around for a twenty mile radius," said Eragon seriously.

Nasuada nodded formally. "Thank-You, Shadeslayer," she said, continuing to walk forward with him by her side. "We can't walk forever. They have been traveling nonstop for two days. They must rest."

"Yes," agreed the rider. "They'll die of weariness."

They continued their route through the Jiet River and weaving towards Uru'baen. As stars spotted the sky, Nasuada ordered camp to be made and to be packed up by sunrise.

The troops obeyed; within an hour, hundreds of large tents littered the ground. People knelt down by the murky river to refill their canteens, people conversing tiredly in the dim glow of the firelight, snores resounded through the camp, and so on and so forth.

Nasuada had a tent to herself. She was out like a light until Eragon entered and shook her awake.

"Nasuada," he said. He watched as the Varden leader groggily glared at him and asked, "What?"

"I keep getting this really bad feeling something happened after we left Surda," he stated worriedly.

Nasuada sighed and looked at the younger earnestly. "Eragon, don't worry. That's just the nervousness we all get when we're doing something major like this. Relax."

Eragon inhaled deeply then pulled himself together. "Your right."

* * *

The marching and the sleeping and the marching and the sleeping took nearly two weeks. Eragon learnt that walking to Uru'baen was painfully slower than flying.

But, finally, the day dawned when the army was but a mere forty miles away from their destination. Nasuada gave a memorable, motivating speech that hyped up the soldiers, and Eragon explained in lengthy detail the battle plans. A few soldiers, Eragon and Nasuada included, would sneak through the city walls in the middle of the night and unlock the gates for a partial amount of the army to surprise attack and rampage the people of Uru'baen. The other half, Orik and Roran included, would circle around the outskirts of the capital of Alagaesia and launch magic, arrows, gigantic stones, and then proceed to burn down Uru'baen. Then, the most elite of the Varden magicians would enter the Dragon Hold and try to control Shruikan while Eragon and Nasuada sneaked into the palace to search for the king.

Eragon grinned to himself. _Nasuada always has such simple battle plans,_ he thought to himself. _And they always work._

* * *

The night, amidst with speckled stars and a pale moon watched the world below.

Beneath the sky, fires were being doused. Weapons were being buckled onto waists. Men were waiting tensely for the signal…

Eragon lifted Nasuada and three other fierce men into the air using magic. They silently flew over the large stone walls defending Uru'baen. Eragon followed suit, his brown hair softly blowing in the frigid, fresh air. The five tiptoed amongst the countless homes and stores. Lights flickered in every window, but the darkness concealed the rebels entirely. Their black clothes and black sheaths masked them. They were one with the night.

They entered a narrow back street, and one of the men - a bald man with thick eyebrows - stumbled over a barrel filled with some heavy liquid. A loud _crash_ echoed through the night. The five rebels ran as quickly and as quietly as they could into a nearby alleyway.

"What was that?" called a voice, presumably a guard's. "Men, I hear something this way!"

They pressed their muscular bodies against the shadowed ally wall, praying the guard would go away.

Eragon's heart was caught in his throat. The footsteps were drawing nearer and nearer…

The guard was standing but a mere inches away from the wall where the soldiers were hiding, overlooking them in the shadows. Candlelight of a nearby poverty-stricken home illuminated his husky silhouette. He stood their for a few moments, just pondering. "Probably that damned cat again," he muttered and headed back to his original post.

All five let out a cry of relief. "Sorry guys," whispered the man who tripped over the barrel.

"It's fine, Amos," whispered Nasuada in return.

Stealthily, they scurried to the opposite side of the street and ducked behind a teeny house before the guard would notice.

Eragon scanned his surroundings. Directly in front of him was the alleyway they were just in. The small house they took cover beside obscured his vision of the remainder of the narrow street. _Damn! Why did we take such a skinny route?_ The only way to escape the road was to kill the guard that went to check on them. Muttering the ancient words, Eragon gazed as the man slumped to the ground.

The five rebels dashed to the guard and stripped him of his armor, which was luckily about Amos's size. He fit snugly into the steely armor. "I'll stay here," he mumbled. "Keep a look out for perspective dangers to our mission."

Nasuada nodded; the remaining four jogged out of the alleyway, their light footsteps pounding on the dirt roads.

Eragon glanced at the foreboding black castle. The place Galbatorix lived.

They turned onto a main road that would lead them to the city's heart - and gasped.

About ten Uru'baen soldiers slouched leisurely against the grimy house walls and stores, chatting, yawning, snoring.

"Take out the conscious ones first, Eragon," Nasuada's voice loomed in his ear. He proceeded as instructed, and before an alarms could be raised, all men slumped to the ground, motionless. They stripped four men that were similarly sized to each rebel and garbed themselves in empire armor. Nasuada, being formed different than males, was the only one who couldn't find a suitable fit, so she continued in her original attire.

They skulked down the shadows of the street until they reached the city's square - which, surprisingly, was empty of soldiers.

"Something's not right," breathed Nasuada.

"I agree," said Eragon. Unbelievably, they managed to snake their way through the back streets without any more guards noticing them. Actually, there were no guards at all. "Maybe they all were socializing on that one street back where at least ten of them were."

"Maybe…" replied the Varden leader. They found a large wheel with wooden spikes protruding from each side. Attached to the wheel was a hunk of wood with leagues of rope wrapped around it, which slung its way around…

"The gate entrance," muttered one of the men Eragon was with. Quickly, they each grasped a spike and pushed forward, causing the wheel to noisily turn.

"HEY! SOUND THE ALARM! SOMEONE'S OPENING THE GATE!"

"We better hurry!" shouted Eragon as bonfires flared every twenty or so feet atop of the perimeter wall. Soldiers were signaling that there was a disturbance.

The four pushed with all their might, desperately trying to open the gate.

"Here they come!" warned Nasuada as dozens of footsteps reached here ears. Guard were on their way.

"Wait, we're almost done!" The black, metal gate was almost lowered! They might actually do it!

Just as the soldiers were about to surround them, a loud _clunk_ told everyone the gate was completely level.

"CHANGE OF PLAN!" hollered Nasuada. "ATTACK! NOW!"

Varden Men hooted and cried a battle cry and raced across the gate, easily murdering the fifteen or so guards.

"Continue on with your original orders, men! Attack and ravage! Do whatever I first instructed you to do!" shrieked Nasuada.

Half of the men unsheathed their swords and began invading houses, trying their best not to harm the women or children, but would kill off the men if they were suspected soldiers. Others lit barrels that littered the floor on fire and chucked them into store windows, watching the merchandise go up in flames. They knew eventually they would burn down a weapon inventing shop - it was only a matter of time. Few sophisticated appearing people, both male and female, headed to Galbatorix's Dragon Hold. Saphira breathed fire, setting homes ablaze. Eragon and Nasuada slipped inside the castle, unnoticed in all the mayhem. As soon as they entered the palace, what appeared to be about two hundred soldiers filed out into the havoc Nasuada's people created. The two ran into a nearby storeroom, lucky to have closed the door before any troops realized there were intruders in the palace.

After what seemed like hours, the men had finally completely exited the castle to the hell outside. Nasuada and Eragon crept through the palace, diving in to random rooms in hallways every now and then when someone would pass them.

Searching for Galbatorix, Eragon asked, "Do you think it's too soon?"

"Perhaps. But I doubt our magicians can do much about Shruikan, so I think we'll just have to confront Galbatorix with or without his dragon as a factor."

Eragon nodded, anxious.

_Good luck, _chided Saphira.

"Don't worry, Eragon," said Nasuada comfortingly. "You'll do great. Fighting him, I mean."

Eragon took a steady breath. "Yes, but-"

"Soldiers!" hissed Nasuada. They ducked into a long, unbelievably dark and creepy hallway. They hid within the shadows and tiptoed to the end of the hall, only to find it a dead end. "Trapped!"

"Not entirely," said Eragon. His fingers traced along a heavily embroidered door completely concealed in darkness. He felt the knob…and twisted it.

They stepped into the dark room, seeing nothing. Not even Eragon, with his elf senses could see beyond his hands. "Where are we?"

Suddenly, Nasuada's piercing scream shattered the silence like a dagger.

Eragon's heart jumped. "Nasuada!"

A snapping noise came somewhere from his left, and the lights turned on.

Galbatorix was holding a knife to Nasuada's throat, grinning like the sadistic maniac he was. "You're so pretty," he taunted. "Such a shame to loose such a beautiful face." He kissed her cheek.

Nasuada flinched.

"Let her go!" screamed Eragon, anger and fear boiling in him.

"Why should I?" sneered the king. He held Nasuada closer to him and stroked her jawbone, inhaling her scent. "Heavenly."

"LET HER GO!"

"Awe," teased Galbatorix. "Is the little farm boy jealous? Good."

"What do you want?" growled Eragon.

"The obvious," replied the king dryly. "Swear fealty to me in the Ancient Language. Like your brother. You could be two peas in a pod!"

"NEVER!" shrieked Eragon melodramatically.

Galbatorix made a _tsking_ sound. "Well, maybe some torture will loosen your tongue."

"You know that won't help. I'd rather be tortured to **death** than to join _you_."

Galbatorix smirked. "Who said anything about you being the victim?" He whistled, and two soldiers entered from the door Eragon came through, shoving a skinny man with a thick black rag around his head that was tied down by a rope. One guard held a whip. Galbatorix whistled again, and the guard handed Eragon the whip. IT was embedded with rock, shards of glass, and several other sharp objects. It had been dipped in vinegar.

Eragon stared at Galbatorix, dumbfounded. "What are you…?"

Galbatorix spat, "This _slave_," He indicated the man with the bag around his head. "Has disobeyed me one too many times. It's time to break him beyond repair. And guess what? You're the torturer."

Eragon stared at the king in horror. "No…"

"Take off the rag around his head, Eragon," said Galbatorix quietly.

Eragon slowly bent down and untied the rope suffocating the prisoner and unveiled him… and took a step back in shock.

There kneeled Murtagh with a deep gash across his skull.

"If you don't do as I say, the pretty little lady right here will be fresh meat for Shruikan by sunrise." Galbatorix grinned maniacally. "Let me teach you how to break a man, Shadeslayer."

* * *

**A/N: o.O OOOh! Yes, sorry about the wait. I got grounded from the com for a week. T.T Anhywho, MUAHAHAHA! The biggest cliffie I've ever written! Review, please.**


	21. How To Break A Man

Murtagh yawned

**A/N:** Hey thanks to all of you who reviewed! Limh (laugh in my head). I think I've kept you waiting long enough! ;) Oh, and I kinda scared myself with this a little… please tell me I'm at least semi-normal. :(

**Disclaimer:**I do not own Eragon.

* * *

Chapter 21: How to Break a Man

"Murtagh, Murtagh," hissed the king mockingly. Nasuada was still clung tightly in his grasp. "The time has finally come. I told you it would happen. But did you listen? No. Now it's time to break you beyond repair." He grinned.

"Where's Thorn?" moaned Murtagh, his skull bleeding profusely. "What did you do with him?"

"Nothing!" said Galbatorix, pretending to look affronted. "He's in Surda safe in sound… where he can do neither me nor you any harm. You see, Trianna's been a loyal little slave. If Thorn tried to come, you would die, as Trianna pointed out, so he stayed back in that rathole desert you call Surda. Now, enough about the dragon, I want to give your brother a little lesson. How to break a man 101. Catchy, huh?"

Eragon was shaking with unidentifiable feelings. Was it hate for the king? Fear for his brother? Or maybe it was love for Murtagh? All three? "If you think I'm going to hurt him you have another thing coming."

Galbatorix's eyes flickered to the youngest rider. "Think? Psh. I don't think, Shadeslayer. I _know_." He kissed Nasuada's cheek, watching the two boys' reactions. "I'll kill her if you don't."

"Then kill me," she spat, hatred distorting her features.

Eragon glanced at his brother. His heart began pounding double time. He knew that expression. _Do it,_ it said.

Eragon shook his head. _No._

"Do it, Eragon," cried Murtagh weakly, his eyes flickering to Nasuada. "The Varden can't survive without her."

"No, Murtagh, I won't."

"Here, perhaps I should give you a demonstration?" inquired the king. He grabbed the whip dripping with vinegar from Eragon and positioned himself so Nasuada was securely in one arm and the whip held by the other. He raised the saturated whip. "Take off his shirt, Eragon."

Eragon gently unbuckled Murtagh's tunic, untied his wrists (knowing Murtagh wouldn't go anywhere), took the tunic off, and then he followed suit with his brother's black shirt. He tied Murtagh's hands back together again. A loud _clunk_ resounded through the halls. A large, jagged mirror piece fell to the floor. Well, that's odd. _Why would a piece of broken mirror be in his tunic?_

Then Eragon put two and two together, gasping. "Murtagh! Why…I thought…"

"I wasn't going to use it!" exclaimed Murtagh, his eyes pleading and glassy with unshed tears. "I swear, I stopped, Eragon… I swear."

"But…why?"

Murtagh stared at the ground, miserable. "I'm sorry, Eragon. It's…an addiction. I've tried so hard to stop, but it's a release. Self-inflicted feels so much more different than unwillingly inflicted…" His eyes begged Eragon to understand.

"It's okay, Murtagh," said Eragon quietly, "I know. Don't worry about it," he soothed. They had a much more pressing matter at the moment…

"Pay close attention, Eragon," said Galbatorix, the wet whip still raised.

Eragon saw out of the corner of his eye his brother tense, preparing himself, and Eragon's heart broke even further. He closed his eyes…

_CRACK!_ The simultaneous hiss from Murtagh and the snap of the whip was unmistakable.

"Open your eyes, Shadeslayer," came Galbatorix's sneering voice.

Eragon obliged, timid of what he might see. As he peered through his eyelids, he saw Murtagh's head lowered, his teeth clenched. The black, sharp whip was still embedded in his skin, wrapped around his entire midsection like a thin leather boa constrictor.

"Now," said Galbatorix professionally, "The key to breaking a man is beating him so hard he wets himself. Once that happens, humiliation normally burns his face and he's yours to do what you like with, for his pride has been destroyed with just a little urine. In order to do that, you usually want to thrust the whip at him with all your might and than ever so slowly pull it back. You develop a sort of rhythm. Trust me, you'll get the hang of it."

To Eragon's horror, the king demonstrated how to "slowly pull it back." He gently tugged on the whip, causing droplets of blood to roll down Murtagh's abdomen and giving the vinegar plenty of time to take affect. Murtagh's breathing was strained and his body tight.

Galbatorix handed Eragon the beating tool. "Your turn!" he said in mock excitement.

Eragon shakily and unwillingly accepted the whip. He just stood there for what felt like several hours or several seconds. "I…I can't," he whispered.

"_You don't have a choice,_" slithered the king's voice in his ears.

"Do it," muttered Murtagh. "I'll be okay."

"I'm sorry," breathed the youngest.

His brother looked up at him through sweaty brown locks and beautiful electric blue eyes. "It's all right. It's not your fault. Against your will."

_Be strong,_ said Saphira. _I can't come. He might kill you all if I do._

Eragon nodded. _I'll try to be strong._

He slowly raised the whip, a foreboding feeling twisting in his stomach. He weakly tossed the whip in Murtagh's general direction.

Murtagh winced, but it was hardly noticeable. His breathing wasn't ragged like Eragon expected. He saw the thorns and rocks hardly cling on to Murtagh's skin. He pulled the whip back as quickly as possible, seeing Murtagh cringe as he did so.

"That. Was. The. Wimpiest. Lash. I. Have. Ever. Seen," stated Galbatorix melodramatically. "The weaker the lash, the more you have to hit him, boy."

"Harder, Eragon," said Murtagh, gazing right into Nasuada's eyes for a moment. She looked positively blanch, especially for such ebony skin. "Harder!"

"Again." The king.

Eragon lifted the whip, determined not to think about what he was doing. He closed his eyes and slashed away, this time harder. _Crack!_

_Oof._ Murtagh's breath whooshed out of him for a second. Eragon opened his eyes and slowly pulled away the whip.

Murtagh had more beads of blood and raw skin, infected by the vinegar, which was almost all used up.

Eragon couldn't help it. He broke down, sinking to his knees. Tears streamed down his face in a very unmanly fashion. "I can't do it!" he cried.

"Yes," wheezed Murtagh. "You can. You must." The mulish look crossed his agonized face. The one that put him in so much damned trouble. "Do it!"

Eragon took a deep breath, trying to keep himself from hyperventilating.

_Crack!_ Murtagh hissed, sucking in his breath. The whip sluggishly removed itself from his body, stealing his skin with it. "Not his fault," Eragon heard him mumble.

_Crack!_ Eragon began to recollect himself some. _The quicker I get this over with, the sooner Murtagh will finish his torture session._

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

Eragon was getting the hang of this now. He understood what Galbatorix meant by a _rhythm_. His body received a certain flow to the beating. Like a dance. A twisted, perverted dance. The _crack_ of the whip was the harmony, Murtagh's coexisting _hiss -_ the melody, and the tugging of the rope - the beat. And Eragon hated every second of it.

The glass shard formally in Murtagh's tunic was drowning in blood; Murtagh himself was breathing heavily.

"Hmmm," pondered Galbatorix. "About twenty more lashed, Eragon. I think that should be enough."

* * *

Murtagh stared at his feet. _Not his fault, not his fault…_ His brother had whipped him nine times. _Not his fault…_

_Crack!_

_Not his fault…_

_Crack!_ Vinegar pulsed through his veins, causing his heart to speed up and his lungs to malfunction. How do you breathe, again?

_Not his fault…_

But when the twelve _crack_!came, his mind began slipping. _Not his fault…_

_Crack!_

Not whose fault? What's going on? Why was he drenched in blood? Why did he throb so? A sticky red liquid blocked the eyesight in his left eye; his head pounded. Was his skull split? It sure as hell felt like it…

_Crack!_ WHO IS HURTING HIM? WHY? WHY CAN'T THEY STOP? _Not his fault…_ Not whose fault? What's going on? Huh? Wait, was that… Eragon? He gazed through the brown bangs plastered to his forehead. Indeed, his brother held a vinegar-covered whip. _Not his fault.._ _'His' must be Eragon_, Murtagh concluded. Who else could it be?

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

He could hardly hold his bladder anymore. Why did torture always do this to him? Galbatorix once said torture did that to _everyone, _but still…

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

Why was Eragon hurting him so much? Didn't he know that vinegar on open wounds felt like a white hot iron on bare flesh? _Why…_

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

Shit, his bladder… a few more lashes and screw the chamber pot…

_Crack!_

_Crack!_

"Not your fault," Murtagh heard himself mutter. Who exactly was he talking about. Again, he gazed at Eragon… he was beating him… why? Was he still mad because of that fight they had? Murtagh felt a twinge of remorse. _I'm sorry for getting mad at you…_ He felt Galbatorix reading his thoughts.

"Hmmm. You're getting to him, Eragon," said the king. Murtagh heard the tyrant strut over beside him and press his hand a few inches above his pants, directly over his bladder. "Hit him right there. Hard. Twice. As hard as you can, boy."

Murtagh braced himself, sucking in his breath. Here it comes…

_Crack!_ Murtagh groaned. His bladder was about to explode! He heard some sniffles beside him. He gazed towards the noise. It was Nasuada, in tears. She was crying… why was she crying? His thoughts were so muddled he couldn't figure it out.

Then it happened.

_CRACK!_

Murtagh felt a warm trickling run down his legs. The stench of urine arose through the air, and his face turned bright red. It would all go down hill from there. It _always _did. But this time he felt like Galbatorix would break him too far. He would be thrown in the burner by the time this was over. Or worse…

Murtagh kneeled, his head limp. His pride ruined, he shed the tears he needed to shed since the day he swore fealty to Galbatorix. And right in front of Nasuada, too! They were probably all laughing at him right now! He could just imagine them pointing, teasing, snickering… His vision swirled and turned black.

* * *

Galbatorix yawned. "Well, that was interesting," he replied mildly. He held Nasuada closer to him, seeing her admiration in Murtagh's mind. He pointed to the crumpled, smelly, sleeping figure on the floor. "You see that man, Nasuada? Why would you love such a worthless piece of shit?"

Nasuada was practically hyperventilating. "He's not worthless. Both him and Eragon are fifty times the human you'll _ever_ be you sadistic swine!" She spat in his face.

Galbatorix flinched and wiped away the spit. "Watch what you do, miss, or you're sweet over here will die."

Eragon watched with interest as Galbatorix whispered something in her ear.

Nasuada's eyes widened, and she stared at Murtagh with new tears. She sniffled; before Eragon realized what was going on, he was crying, too.

"Take him to the torture chamber, clean him up. He smells _terrible_."

* * *

Eragon hoisted Murtagh and tossed him in the underground pool of water. After a few seconds, Murtagh's head bobbed up, sputtering and gasping for air in the dark torture chamber.

Murtagh continued to tread water as the stench of lake instantly replaced the stench of urine.

_How could he possible have the energy to kick his feet?_ Eragon had no idea, especially after what he just suffered. Blood still oozed from his brother's noggin.

"Well, Murtagh," said Galbatorix conversationally, "Less than thirty lashes. An all time low! Do you remember the time I whipped you two-hundred _fifty_ times?" His eyes flickered to Eragon, and the elven boy felt his fists clench.

Eragon knew what Galbatorix was attempting: shake him up; make him lose control. But not _this_ rider!

"Or the time I threw you in the bonfire? And your entire body was black and wrinkled with burns that I healed a few days later? Do you?" asked Galbatorix, trying not to enjoy himself; his grip still tight on the Varden leader.

"Yes," whispered Murtagh silently, the painful memory still etched on his face.

Neither Eragon nor Nasuada said anything. They just gaped at the king, speechless while Eragon's heart pounded with the blackest of hate he ever felt. He threw his brother in a bonfire and he was… laughing about it? Why didn't he see this in Murtagh's memories? _Black magic…_

"Or the time," continued the king nonchalantly, "that I slit your throat just so you would know what it felt like? And you lay sprawled on the floor desperately gasping for air until you begged me to heal you? Do you, Morzansson?"

"Yes," came Murtagh's humiliated and feeble voice.

"Or the time-"

"Stop it!" cried Nasuada's feminine voice. "Please, don't!"

"What's the matter?" sneered the king. "You prefer not to know what your loves been through? What he's experienced? Forgive me, for I assumed you would have; you could get to know him a little better." He grinned toothily. A sanguine, grimy smile and repeatedly kissed her throat. "You know," he said between taunting kisses, "There's many interesting things about Murtagh he never shared with you."

Nasuada tried with all her might to push the king away from her until he reluctantly did so. "Such as?"

"The fact he cuts himself."

"No!" pleaded Murtagh, still treading water. "I mean, I used to, but I don't anymore!"

Eragon observed the whole thing, his anger still burning within him.

"Then what was the glass shard…?"

"It wasn't anything!" spat Murtagh. "I swear on the statue of Helzvog. I wasn't planning on using it!"

"He speaks the truth," chided Eragon, his voice calm and shaky with unbelievable tension. "He doesn't do it anymore."

"Well, I bet he never told you he can still feel me in his mind," said Galbatorix.

"I explained that to her when we arrived in Surda, and Murtagh was aware of it," replied Eragon. "No need to tell her."

Galbatorix sighed. "My dear boy, you are so _pathetic_," he said, somewhat off subject. "You call yourself a dragon rider?" He pointed to one particularly battered Murtagh. "Look what you've done to him. Your own flesh and blood!" He pretended to act shocked. "How dare you!"

"JUST SHUT UP!" Eragon exploded. He couldn't take it anymore. "I DIDN'T DO THIS! YOU DID! YOU RUINED EVERYONES' LIVES! YOU MADE MY BROTHER ONE OF THE BIGGEST TRAITORS IN ALAGAESIAN HISTORY, AND HE DIDN'T EVEN DO ANYTHING! HE'S YOUR SLAVE!" He couldn't contain himself. "I MEAN, DAMN IT!"

"Temper, temper," tsked Galbatorix. "I suggest you watch it or Murtie over here will drown." He laughed lightheartedly. "Oh, not that it really matters. In the end-" He was cut off by someone's fit of coughing.

Murtagh broke out hacking up his intestines. He hacked and hacked and hacked and hacke until he doubled over - which isn't very intelligent when in water. His head shot out of the lake smelling liquid, choking.

"Finally!" shrieked Galbatorix with glee. "What I've been waiting for! You see, Eragon, when a man treads water for long enough, they get cramped. Eventually the pangs increase until they can't stay afloat." He paused. "I say he's been in the pool for about thirty minutes."

Eragon, his blood still boiling, tried his best to ignore Galbatorix. He rushed to the side of the underground pool and knelt down. "Murtagh! Are you okay? Speak to me."

"I'm-" Murtagh clutched his side and temporarily sank under water.

Eragon's heart stopped. "Murtagh!"

Murtagh kicked to the surface after about twenty seconds.

"He needs to stay under for a minute before I'll let you save him, Shadeslayer," said Galbatorix.

Murtagh flopped his arms furiously, trying to stay afloat, only to cramp up again and sink beneath the surface.

Nasuada gasped. "Murtagh! Please, let us help him; he's drowning!"

Galbatorix sighed, stroking her chilled ear. "Nonsense, deary, this is all usual for him! Besides, he's only been under for around fifty seconds."

_Ten more, Just stay down, Murtagh._ though Eragon. _It'll be over quicker if you just stay down._

Unfortunately, Murtagh's head cut through the water as he gasped for air yet again, panting.

Galbatorix grinned.

Murtagh sank under again.

This time he didn't come up.

The seconds passed. Eragon could almost see Murtagh's corpse, rubbery at the bottom of the pool… "How long has it been?"

"Oh, I'd say three minutes, but don't rescue him yet. I'm curious to see how long he'll last," answered Galbatorix.

"But he'll drown!"

"Hmm…" pondered the king. "I suppose you're right, Shadeslayer. It would ruin the fun if he died now. Go save him."

Eragon didn't even pull of his boots. He dove in the water fully garbed, searching blindly for his brother. _Murtagh… Oh, Murtagh, where are you?_ He shouted Price Tag's name, but all the came out was a muffled mass of bubbles. He pounded against the liquid, his lungs feeling as if they would bleed. He _needed_ to find Murtagh, but he knew his brother wouldn't want Nasuada alone with Galbatorix. The water's depths was entirely black when his fingertips finally brushed the bottom. _Calm down, lungs…_

He groped for what felt like hours; his lungs begging him to rise to the surface.

Wait! His right hand smacked against a boot, which attached to a leg, which attached to a torso, then an abdomen… _Murtagh!_ He wrapped his arms around the bruised back of his weak big brother and furiously kicked upward until his head hit the surface, his lungs kissing him.

But Murtagh's lungs were filled with water.

Eragon thrust him out of the pool and quickly did so himself, turning Murtagh on his back to perform CPR on him for the second time in a month.

One, two, three,

Eragon spread apart Murtagh's cold blue lips and breathed for him.

One, two, three.

_Breathe, Murtagh, please._

One, two, three.

Murtagh rolled over and regurgitated a whole mass of lake water, sputtering.

"Murtagh!" both his brother and lover cried as Eragon's shaking hands cupped his cold face.

"Bloody hell!" he hissed. "Don't scare me like that again, please!"

Murtagh just groaned.

Galbatorix smiled. "My gods, the life is almost out of him! I guess he just took one too many beatings." A distant expression crossed the king's face, and Eragon knew from elven intuition that he was searching Murtagh's mind.

"Hmmm," said the tyrant thoughtfully. "It looks like he's about ready for the loony branding. That should stick him in the mud with the other crazies."

* * *

Eragon half dragged, half carried Murtagh down the hallway and stopped in front of a metal door, Nasuada still held by Galbatorix and the knife still across her neck.

They entered the room.

Inside, a man sharpened a knife on a roller, sparks flying in every direction. Metal objects hung upon every black wall. A large furnace was the center of the chamber.

The man, who was incredibly fat, stopped sharpening and attempted an awkward bow and said, "Evening, your Highness." He scanned Murtagh interestedly. "He here for the loony branding?"

"Yes," replied Galbatorix.

"…Loony branding?" clarified Eragon.

Galbatorix snickered.

The fat man toddled over to a wall, scanning it until he plucked out a large metal rod with a handle on one end and a gigantic _X_ on the other. He turned to the king. "Where do you want it, sire?"

"How about his torso, four inched to the right of his belly button?"

"You mean near his hip, sire?"

"Yep." The king turned to Eragon. "Now, remember this, Shadeslayer: when you break a man _too_ far, he is of no use to you. The loony branding declares that little statement."

Eragon growled. "You are so sick!"

Murtagh had been moaning gently the whole time. Eragon doubted he realized this.

Meanwhile, the fat man had placed the _X_ in the furnace, waiting for it to heat up.

Ten minutes passed until the iron was pulled out of the fire. The man grinned. "Nice 'n hot." He looked at Eragon. "Hold him down firmly. _Very_ firmly. Understand?"

Eragon turned to glare at Galbatorix, seeing the knife across Nasuada's throat. He took a deep breath. "Okay."

Murtagh just groaned weakly, unaware of what was happening.

Eragon tensed, clutching Murtagh like a mother who couldn't keep her baby chic out of harm's way. He unwillingly pinned Murtagh down spread eagle with magic. "Relax, hun," he soothed, rubbing Murtagh's arm.

Murtagh appeared confused, as if he still didn't understand what was going on.

"Ready?" asked the fat man.

"Ready," said Eragon.

Slowly, the fat man inched forward, the iron held forward like a poking stick. He continued this until…

Murtagh shrieked out in total pain; his body jerked uncontrollably as he desperately attempted to escape from the iron as it hissed against the skin that attached his torso to his hip. "**STOP! PLEASE!**"

And then it happened just like that.

Eragon let go of Murtagh and took a few steps backed, shocked.

Murtagh lay on the floor and huddled together in a ball as the magic holding him ceased. One eye was wide open, the other half-closed; he was laughing hysterically. A high pitched, anti-Murtagh laugh.

He laughed so hard he rolled around on the floor, his hair wildly askew.

Galbatorix grinned. "My work here is done."

Eragon was frantic. Oh. My. Gods. Murtagh was crazy! He had been beaten so many times so brutally and humiliated so often and was always so lonely that he just… _snapped._

Murtagh's giggling had ceased, and he stared at Galbatorix with mortal fear. He looked at Eragon with wide, toddler eyes and bit his nails. "Eragon," he whispered. "Eragon, I'm scared."

Eragon's heart ripped in two. "Oh, Murtagh," he sobbed. Literally. Tears streamed down his face, drenching his already wet brother who didn't understand why he was crying.

"What's a matter, Eragon?" he asked, his voice so naïve. "Why you crying?"

"Because, Murtagh," breathed Eragon, who realized only half the sobs were coming from him; Nasuada was bawling, too. "Just because."

"Is it because of _him?_" he said, still like a child. "He scares me." He began rocking back and forth. "He hurts me, Eragon." He sniffled. "Will you help me? Please?"

"Look what you've done, Eragon!" boomed Galbatorix. "You caused this!"

"No he didn't!" shrieked Nasuada in between sobs. "It was all you! You f-foul l-little s-swine!"

Galbatorix slapped her across the face so hard blood trickled from both the blade against her neck and the spot his hand struck her.

Murtagh, bloodied and broken beyond repair, saw the whole thing, terrified. "You hit her! Don't do that!" He sat up and hid behind Eragon.

Eragon tried to protect Murtagh (or what was left of him) with a swimming vision. _How intimidating. I'm weeping like a baby!_ "It's okay," he soothed while rubbing Murtagh's arm.

"Eragon," said Murtagh in a hushed voice, now in the fetal position, still rocking to and fro. "Eragon, I'm really scared."

"Look him straight in the eyes, Eragon," said the king, still holding Nasuada.

Eragon obeyed.

"Tell him," said the king dramatically, "That you hate him and you never want to see him again. Or else Nasuada dies."

Nasuada was on the verge of a mental breakdown. "Murtagh…"

"Murtagh," sniffled Eragon, his brother still in the fetal position. He cupped Murtagh's face, memorizing the cold, smooth feel of it in case this was thier last moments. He could feel Murtagh's life force draining.

Murtagh stared fixedly on him, his round eyes absorbing everything he heard; his index finger was strumming his lips in a childish way. Eragon had his full attention.

"I…I… Murtagh," Eragon couldn't breathe he was sobbing so hard. "I hate you, and I never want to see you ever again."

"…Really?"

Eragon could have lynched himself. "Really, Murtagh."

Murtagh gazed at him through those unique eyes. Believing everything he said. "W-What did I do?" he sniffled. "I-I'm sorry I got mad at you… I'm sorry I get angry when you call me Price Tag. You can call me that when you want! I'm sorry!"

"Tell him you could never forgive him and you're embarrassed to be related. As your last words to him," said Galbatorix smugly.

Nasuada stared at the king in shock. "Last…words…?"

Galbatorix looked at her falsely sympathetic. "He's dying, deary. No one's ever survived the branding. Why do you think I don't brand?" He snapped his fingers, indicating the fat man. "You! Take her to my chamber."

The fat man eagerly obliged, but he waited until Eragon said his lines.

Eragon was beyond crying; he was hyperventilating. He kissed both of Murtagh's cheeks, something he would never do under ordinary circumstances. He proceeded to do the same with his forehead and nose, knowing Murtagh's life was draining by the second. "M-M-Mur-Murtagh…"

Murtagh watched his brother intently, desperate for acceptance. He looked so _gullible._ Gullible and cracked. "I'm sorry…for every bad thing I've ever done…"

Eragon gazed at Murtagh's tear-blurred outline, his cheeks wet. "I could never forgive you, M-Murtagh. And I'm embarrassed to be your brother.:"

Murtagh sniffed; a few unshed tears finally releasing themselves from his glassy, innocent eyes.

He coughed and choked, grasping his chest and collapsed into a heap on the floor. "I love you, Eragon," he whispered as the fat man escorted a shaking Nasuada to Galbatorix's room. I don't know if you love me back, but I know I love you a lot."

Eragon bent down and brushed his lips against Murtagh's sweaty forehead. "I love you, too, Murtagh. I don't deserve you. I'll always love you, Price Tag, forever. And whether you're here to experience it or not, I'll free you. I love you so, so, so, so much."

Murtagh smiled weakly but wholeheartedly, closing his eyes.

Intertwining Murtagh's hand with his, Eragon turned Murtagh from his side to his back and rested his head against his brother's chest.

Listening to his fading heartbeat.

* * *

**A/N:** OMG I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER TO STICK UP! I got grounded for two weeks - AGAIN!! I'm sorry! Anyway, I REALY hoped you liked it! Yes, I admit, I've been known to kill of Murtagh (cough) oneshot (cough)

Btw, I DON'T think Nas will be a rider in case I haven't mentioned that.

Oh, and it might take a couple of weeks b4 I get the next chappie up. :( I'm so sorry! But I have to go camping with the family. Anyway, **Review, please! It keeps me writing!** You wanna know what happens to our beloved, cracked Murtie? Than review!!


	22. All is Fair in Love and War

**A/N: Dudes! I'm so sorry I haven't updated since forever! I was on vacation! And I got a really bad sunburn! And once I got back we had to drive to Spokane for Hoopfest! And now I'm going to write what will hopefully be a long chapters to atone! But I think you'll be rather disappointed… :( THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED! Oh, and I got few comments about the dragons and their pairings - don't worry; I already had it planned out for them before I started!**

Chapter 22 - All is Fair in Love and War

The battle raged on.

Roran immediately knew something went wrong when Shruikan stayed in his Dragon Hold with no uproar whatsoever. He just finished burning down a small store filled with vegetables when Jormunder met him outside the once-store-now-ashes. "What's up?" Nasuada had appointed Roran leader of the attack while she and Eragon were in the castle.

"Strange," said Jormunder, "Shruikan isn't putting up a fight like expected."

"Odd indeed." Roran hollered to Orik, who was busy ravaging a nearby home. "Hey, Orik! Over here!"

Orik hustled across the way towards Roran. "Aye?"

"Trouble," responded Roran. "Jormunder, you're in charge until we get back."

Jormunder nodded professionally. "Yes, sir."

"Come to the Dragon Hold, Orik," said Roran. They jogged to there while Roran relayed Jormunder's news.

"Hmm," pondered Orik. "This could be bad."

They wove their way through the burning streets; the scent and touch of smoke inflamed their senses, causing eyes to water, noses to run, and increased coughing. "Ugh!" hissed Roran. "The smoke if _killing_ me!"

"We're destroying so many innocent people."

Roran sighed. "I know. But, you know what they say: all's fair in love and war."

The Dragon Hold remained untouched by the raging fire as the magicians kept a close eye on Shruikan. Roran and Orik easily scurried through the entrance as the Varden magic doers allowed the to pass without interrogation.

Roran gave his attention to an unruly haired woman with brown eyes. "Christine," he said. "Report."

"Shruikan's laying their very… _un-Shruikan_ like. He is staying unusually calm."

In the dusty moonlight of the Dragon Hold, which resembled a large stable, by the far left hand corner was a massive black dragon with glimmering dark scales dulled by the dirty air.

Roran meandered towards the dragon.

Shruikan lay with his head nestled in between two giant paws with razor sharp claws, his teeth barred in a dont-think-I-don't-know-you're-here expression upon his face. His coal black eyes watched Roran warily. They looked like two bottomless pits.

"Be cautious of him," said Roran. "He's on the alert."

Christine nodded and repeated Roran's orders to the dozen or so magicians she was leading. "Don't worry. We'll keep a sharp eye on him."

"Any funny business from the beast and I want you to immobilize him and burn down the Dragon Hold," said Roran as he made for the exit.

"Of course," replied Christine.

As Orik and Roran left the dragon's stable, Orik said, "You know what this means, Roran? It means something went wrong for Eragon and Nasuada. Galbatorix doesn't need his dragon."

Roran nodded fretfully. "You're right." He was silent for a moment, thinking. "I think we should probably follow them."

"Agreed," sighed Orik. "It'll be dangerous."

"And that didn't stop Eragon or Nasuada," said Roran, determined.

They ran to Galbatorix's castle's entrance, only to see the large entryway sealed shut . "We need to find another way in," concluded Roran. About twenty feet above was a cracked open window.

"Roran, you got some rope?"

"Nah, wait here." He jogged a couple of blocks to an abandoned neighborhood the Varden apparently had missed when throwing torches. It was unnoticeable, harmless looking. He randomly selected a house and walked up to the door. Seeing that it was locked, he muttered a curse and kicked the frail door down.

The family living their had left most of their supplies, so Roran was sure he would succeed in finding rope. He sped his way through the house, turning over tables and tossing cabinets until he found the storage room. _Jackpot…_ Inside were several gardening tools, and a large, thirty foot rope. He grinned and hustled back to Orik. On the way, he ordered a few soldiers to burn down the overlooked street.

Men fought all around him; several innocent lives were being taken. Families were being ripped apart. Peoples' life and habitat was being burnt to the ground. In a matter of hours, all that would be left would be a pile of ash and rubble. As he headed to Orik, he passed several bloodied children, dying women, and decapitated men. He shivered violently. What happened to "Don't touch the civilians?" But the worst were the babies sobbing for their mommies. It broke Roran's heart.

Saphira breathed fire up above, lighting a new section of the city. Screaming, soldiers hollering, armor clashing, horrible sights. The world was illuminated in red embers; Saphira's glittering scales tinged crimson with blood and fire.

Roran briefly wondered how Valeo and Thorn were fairing.

Alas, he reached his destination. "I've found some rope."

"That must've been hard to find," commented Orik.

"No, not really." He attempted to toss the rope up to the open window but did not succeed. "Umm… how are we going to get the rope up their?"

"Magicians," replied Orik. "Hold on, I'll be right back."

He returned five precious minutes later accompanied by one of the magicians guarding the Dragon Hold. He had a deep set face that reminded Roran a great deal of his newest family member.

The magician mumbled a few words, and the rope shakily slithered up to the window and tied to what appeared to be from Roran's angle a metal bedpost.

"Thanks," said Roran as he latched onto the scratchy leather. He hoisted himself and began scooting up the length of the line with Orik closely behind. They inched their way up twenty or so feet until they found themselves in a modest room consisting of a bed and night stand. They walked to the door quietly and turned the knob to be greeted by a black hallway filled with darkness.

"Looks like we'll have to feel our way around," commented Orik.

Roran nodded. His fingers brushed against the rough surface of what he assumed was the wall. "I hope Nasuada and Eragon are okay."

"They're tough," said Orik. "They have to be alive. I don't think the Varden could survive without them."

Roran continued to grope around blindly until his hands tapped against a sharp corner. "There's a right turn coming in the hall, Orik."

They pivoted to the right and continued on their way.

Roran could have jumped. There was a skylight! The moonlight illuminated the hall, so Roran and Orik could see. "Where do you suppose we are?"

"I don't-" Orik was cut off by the sound of footsteps echoing down the hall. "It could be a guard!" he hissed. "Take cover!"

They dove into the darkness of the previous hallway until the footsteps faded away.

"False alarm," muttered Orik. "They didn't come anywhere near us." However, Roran wasn't listening.

"Listen!" he snapped. "I hear voice!"

They strained their ears. Indeed, they could hear mumbling.

"What can you hear?" asked Orik. "They're too quiet for me to make out much."

They crept closer to the noise, praying they wouldn't be heard or seen, careful to remain in the shadows. Finally, Roran could catch most of the conversation.

"Yeah, Galbatorix just sent for Demetri and me a few hours ago to bring the whip," came a hushed male voice.

"Wow," called a second, female voice. "So he has him back?"

"Yes," said the man. "And the dragon rider and Varden leader, too."

Roran's heart stopped.

The second voices owner gasped. "He has the Varden leader? Has he killed him yet?"

"Her," corrected the man. "The Varden leader is a lady. A beautiful one at that." A sigh could be heard. "Poor woman. Rebel or not, she was so young and youthful… All three are far too young to die so soon."

"So she is dead?"

"No…" gasped Orik.

Roran tensed.

"You know the king," spat the man. "Likes to play with his food before he eats it." His voice grew even quieter, and Roran had to strain his ears further to hear what he said next: "She was taken to his chamber."

Both Orik and Roran shivered.

"And the Blue Rider?"

There was a short pause. "I don't know," admitted the first voice. "I believe he's still down in the torture chambers with our little runaway apprentice. Not that he hasn't tried to runaway before…"

Another short silence ensued. "Come," said the woman, now in a regular tone. "You look tired. Head down to the kitchen; I'll fix you something delicious.

"Thank'ee." Footsteps resounded through the dark hall, slowling fading.

"Follow them," breathed Roran. His heart pounded.

"Eragon's being beaten by someone's apprentice, and Nasuada's…" Orik trailed off, repeating Roran's thoughts.

"Still alive," finished Roran optimistically. "Still alive and kicking."

They followed the resonating footsteps, their fingers skimming the wall, trying to get a sense of their surroundings. After a few hundred paces, candlelight began flooding the corridor, brightening everything in it's large path - including the two rebels.

"We'll be see!" whispered Roran. "Hide!"

"Where?" snapped Orik. "No place to!"

Roran thought for a second. "Our best option is to split up. I might draw less attention if I'm not walking around with a dwarf."

Orik chuckled softly. "Yes, that's a dead giveaway." He nodded, and the two colleagues departed in opposite directions, for a fork was in the architecture.

Roran took the right corridor. Paintings hung on walls, vases lay upon harmless tables every thirty or so feet. The hall led him to take another right, then left, until he came across a series of doors.

The first three we practically glued shut, the fourth led to a dead end, the fifth to a storage room, but the sixth led to a brightly lit room with dozens of bustling servants washing plates and doing several other cater-like things. _The kitchen._

Roran's first instinct was to run, but he realized that no one was really paying him close attention. He strutted in nonchalantly, silently inhaled, and tapped a portly woman carrying a gray tub of silverware.

She pivoted around to reveal a round, jolly face. She smiled. "Yes? How can I help you, dear?"

"Uh…" stuttered Roran. "I'm looking for the torture chambers. I have an…uh…appointment…down there with a few prisoners if you know what I mean."

The woman's expression immediately turned cold. "Down the hall is a set of stairs. Follow them," she said curtly. She kicked up her heels and marched away.

"Thanks!" called Roran behind her. He exited the kitchen and turned all the remaining doorknobs in the hallway until he exactly what the lady told him: a gloomy staircase with no bottom.

It scared the shit out of him.

He inhaled deeply, then let it out. He slowly trudged to the stairs and sluggishly walked down.

The stairs were grimy and never seemed to end. Eventually, he heard the gently, rhythmic _dripping_ of an unknown liquid and the…rattling of chains?

His heart eat in his head. Galbatorix could be down here… Well, he was certainly in the right area. "ERAGON!" he yelled.

Nothing.

Another set of about seven or eight doors awaited him. This time they were thick, metal, and foreboding. He steadily walked to the first on his right…

Locked.

Now the second…

Locked.

He tried the first two on the left…

Locked.

He tried the third on the right…

And it opened! He stared in to a dimly lit room with a dark underground pool and numerous torture devices. He shivered. _What if Eragon suffered these?_ "ERAGON!" he shouted again.

Nothing.

He did another quick scan of the room and headed for the third door on the left…

And it opened again!

But he couldn't believe what he saw.

* * *

Eragon lay huddled on the floor, his face tearstained. He didn't even notice the creak of the door as it opened. He vividly remembered Galbatorix's last words before following the fat man and Nasuada to his chamber.

"_Shame," he had said. "Such a pretty boy." He bent down and stroked Murtagh's cheek with his clean-cut hands and sparkling, short fingernails. _

_It surprised Eragon how well kept the king appeared. He seemed so…spotless._

"_You know," continues the king conversationally while caressing Murtagh's face, "I've always known he would crack one day. Just like his father." He chuckled. "Some think he cracked quite a while ago. Such a shame to lose such a beautiful boy."_

_Eragon had growled. "Get away from him!"_

_Galbatorix laughed lightheartedly. "As you wish. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a Varden leader to murder."_

Now Eragon listened to his brother's distant heartbeat and the gentle whoosing of his breath. "Please, Murtagh," he whispered. "You've cheated death so many times… Just stay here. Don't give in."

"Eragon!"

Eragon's head shot away from Murtagh's chest. "Roran? Is that you?"

"Yes!" exclaimed his cousin, worried. "I thought they had beaten you to death! By someone's apprentice - what the bloody hell is Murtagh doing here?"

Eragon relayed the story, no unmanly tears warming his cold face. "He's dying… and I beat him… and told him… I hated him… and he's i-insane!"

Roran, now by his cousin, kneeled down and hugged him comfortingly. Then he slapped him across the face.

"Owe!" shrieked Eragon. "What was that for!"

"Pull yourself together!" spat Roran. He examined Murtagh's condition. "My gods, he looks terrible!" His expression turned somber. "Eragon, he wouldn't want you mourning him with the whole Varden at steak. Find Galbatorix and kill him."

Eragon sniffled.

"Listen to me," said Roran slowly. "Murtagh. Is. Not. Dead. He may be dying, but he's still alive. I'll watch over him, and if the worst comes, I'll be here to hold his hand. Okay?"

Eragon took a shaky breath, recollecting himself. "You're right, Roran. I need to fulfill my promise." His eyes flickered to Murtagh. "I'm going to find Nasuada. And I'm going to kill Galbatorix."

* * *

**A/N: Omg, I'm SO sorry to all of you that hate Roran. You probably didn't like an almost entirely Roran chappie, huh? I'm sorry, but I needed to capture the battle and not just Murtagh. (even though I love him dearly, their ARE other people in this story :( ) Anyway, thanks for waiting patiently for this!**

**REVIEW, PLEASE!! IT KEEPS ME WRITING!! :P**

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	23. The Red Brick Wall

**A/N:** limh. Sorry for the entire Roran-oriented chapter! To make up for the what most people thought was lameness of it, I wrote an entirely, weird chapter that is entirely based upon Murtagh and how he's handlind insanity! I think it might be kind of short though. Oh well - let's see… **_THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT REVIEWED__!!_** I'm sorry if you don't like this next chapter (or if you just think it's weird) but it was WAY to fun to write, so I just felt obligated to stick in. Please don't stop reading 'cuz you're scared of me…

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon, nor any of its characters. I don't own Pink Floyd, either. Or their rock opera **_**The Wall**_** or the songs on it **_**The Trial**_** nor **_**Outside the Wall.**_** (The second song is merely referred to in the chapter. ****:P ) For those of you who have never heard that CD, you're seriously missing out.**

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Chapter 23 - The Red Brick Wall

Murtagh ran barefoot through the city of Uru'baen, his pale toes numb as he splashed through icy puddles. He wore nothing but leggings that were ripped to his knees. His abs, though muscular, sunk beneath his ribs. All in all, he looked exactly the same as the day Eragon kidnapped him some odd weeks ago.

Truthfully, he did not know why he was running for his life - or, rather, from _whom_. All he knew, as his heart beat, was that he was in serious danger. He needed to flee, to get away.

His feet slapped in the gloomy night through Uru'baen, it's residence unharmed and peaceful in their houses. The post-rainfall smell clung in the air like a blanket. He sprinted down a nearby neighborhood. He had to get away! He had to go!

But when he reached the city gates, all he found was a great, big, iron-hard red brick wall surrounding the perimeter of Uru'baen that prevented anyone from coming in…or out.

He could have screamed! Why were they - whoever they were - locking him in? He couldn't figure it out, but as he gazed upon the wall he received a creepy deja-vu feeling deep within his chest.

A church bell rang loud and distant from the west of the Red Rider. It echoed in his ears like a crying ghost. The noise made his heart speed up further…

Something was wrong. Terrible wrong.

The next thing he knew, he felt strong hands on either side of his back. "Gotcha!"

Murtagh struggled, only to have the pair of hands wrap around his waist and lift him on top of the attacker's shoulder. Murtagh kicked furiously. "Let go of me!" Two years ago, he would have considered his behavior demeaning. That was before he discovered one-on-one torture sessions with his master.

His master! That's who he must be running from! Galbatorix! Who else? Wait… that meant this thick-necked guy was taking him to…

_Uh-oh._

He ceased his protests, knowing it was useless in the end. He sighed, closed his eyes, and wished that iron-hard wall wasn't there. Why did it seem so familiar? Was is protecting him or killing him? Maybe it was preventing him from leaving because the people outside would never approve of him…

Gods, sometimes he was so afraid of his peers. Not the way he feared Galbatorix, but a different way. He always worried they would despise him and curse his name when they discovered his heritage - and they almost always did exactly that. So maybe the wall was keeping all the judgmental jerks away?

He grinned. Maybe that red brick wall wasn't so bad after all. But still, why was is so familiar? The question bugged the hell out of him.

He remained lost in somewhat morbid thoughts until he was thrown to the ground somewhere in Galbatorix's gothic (literally) castle. As he smashed against the floor, hundreds of candles simultaneously flickered into life, illuminating… the courtroom?

_Bloody hell,_ thought Murtagh. _I've had enough with courts! Besides, this place hasn't been used in years!_ Needless to say, Galbatorix did not care much about habeas corpus. Why he even had a courtroom, only Helzvog knew. He looked around to see almost all of the civilians of Uru'baen, who he had believed to be asleep, were behind him in several lengthy pews. He examined the rest of the room… and almost fainted.

Selena, Nasuada, Tornac, Morzan…almost everyone he ever knew, dead _or_ alive, were in the chamber as solid and fleshy as if they were immortal. _I must be going insane…_

His suspicion of being bonkers grew ever more distinct when music struck up out of nowhere. Murtagh flinched, caught off guard. He scanned the room, searching for the source of the noise, but he couldn't find it. The music was _literally_… just _there_. "How weird…"

The twins, like the music, appeared out of thin air right in front of Murtagh, whose view of the judge was blocked. Who was the head decision maker today, anyway? The jury were just townspeople.

Murtagh gulped as he laid eyes on the judge.

…_Galbatorix…_

Galbatorix grinned crazily and turned to the twins in an expectant manner. The music blared from a dull thudding to an actual tune.

The twins cleared their throats and, to Murtagh's amazement, began to sing:

"_Good morning, Worm your honor!_

_The crown will plainly show the prisoner that now stands before you_

_Was caught red-handed showing feelings_

_Showing feelings of an almost human nature;_

_This will not do._

_Call the schoolmaster!"_

Murtagh would have burst out into laughter if he wasn't so disturbed by the fact he was seeing dead people and the twins were singing. He wasn't sure which one he should be more concerned about.

His old teacher before Tornac stood up to give his testimony. He was old. And deceased. Murtagh never particularly liked Mr. Janersson, and Mr. Janersson never particularly liked Murtagh. Actually, the old fart hated him.

Mr. Janersson, too, belted his heart out in a vioce that would have made glass shatter:

"_I always said he'd come to know good_

_In the end, your honor._

_If they let me have my way I could have flayed him into shape._

_But my hands were tied,_

_The bleeding hearts and artists_

_Let him get away with murder._

_Let me hammer him today?"_

This time Murtagh really did laugh. He sniggered slightly, trying to hold it in. Suddenly, the music grew silent for a second. When it started back up, Murtagh felt, as forced by magic, his rusty singing voice croak the loudest yet:

"_Crazy,_

_Toys in the attic I am crazy._

_Truly gone fishing."_

Murtagh was too shocked by the fact he just sang in public to comprehend what he just said at first. He had a nice voice… Then Murtagh felt himself singing again, hitting some high notes:

"_They must have taken my marbles away!"_

Immediately, the jury struck up like a melodic choir of soft-voiced children:

"_Crazy, toys in the attic he is crazy."_

A piano played for alone for a millisecond, and in that millisecond Murtagh realized two things. One, his life somehow became a twisted musical with dead people in it. And two, the musical was about him. Or, rather, his lack of sanity.

_Okay. _Not _normal, Murtagh…_

He snapped back to what he was now 80 percent sure was reality when to hard fists slammed on the desk he was sitting behind. The defendant's side of the desk. And no attorney to help him out. He examined the fists for a jiffy. Then the face.

They were _his fists_ and _his face._ His father…

Murtagh gazed in horror, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest, and Morzan mainly hissed instead of sang:

"_You little shit! You're in it now._

_You should have talked to me more often _

_Than you did, but no! You has to go_

_Your own way, have you broken any _

_Homes up lately?_

_Just five minutes, Worm your honor,_

_Him and Me, alone."_

Broken any homes up lately? No, not recently… he's been stuck in a hospital bed. No time for war or killing. The fact he's broken so many homes up is something he always shoved to the back of his mind, but now that he's met Nasuada (his eyes flickered to her) he can't imagine how he justified murdering so many husbands and sons…

Morzan developed a devilish expression that Murtagh always tried his best to avoid growing up. His hands uncontrollably inched towards Murtagh's neck, but they halted as Selena cried:

"_Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaabe!_

_Come to mother, baby, let me hold you _

_In my arms._

_M'lud I never wanted him to_

_Get in any trouble._

_Why'd he ever leave me?_

_Worm, your honor, let me take him home."_

_I want to go with you!_ Murtagh mentally begged. _But you're dead…_ Again, his mouth opened as if by magic and he crooned:

"_Crazy,_

_Over the rainbow I am crazy,_

_Bars in the window."_

Another short pause, the he chirped:

"_There must have been a door their in the wall_

_When I came it."_

The hollow, creepy choir (also know as the jury) immediately hummed:

"_Crazy, over the rainbow he is crazy."_

All eyes followed Galbatorix as he stepped around his desk and strutted up to Murtagh, the music morphine fiery and rage-filled. Galbatorix stared like the maniac he was into Murtagh's nervous pale blue eyes as he boomed so loud the ground shook:

"_The evidence before the court is _

_Incontrovertible, there's no need for _

_The jury to retire!" His grin widened:_

"_In __**all **__my years of judging _

_I have never heard before_

_Of someone more deserving _

_Of the full penalty of law." He pointed to Selena and Nasuada and continued:_

"_The way you made them suffer,_

_Your exquisite wife and mother,_

_Fills me with the urge to__** DEFECATE!**__"_

Murtagh felt so feeble under Galbatorix's wrath. Was this twisted musical going to ever end? The floor shook beneath him like hell was exploding to the surface.

"Hey, Judge!" cried someone from the pews. "Shit on him!"

_Not good, not good._ He finally realized why the red brick wall seemed so familiar to him. It was _his_ wall. The one he fortified around his mind to keep people entering, and his memories escaping. The wall was practically his sanity. He _needed _that wall. Without it… he couldn't begin to imagine what would happen to his mental state. The wall was his comfort. It defended his sanctuary.

Then it dawned on Murtagh:

He was trapped in his head. _It's a dream, it's all a dream, I'm not crazy, I'm not seeing dead people, I'm just dreaming…_

Galbatorix began to below Murtagh's punishment: The ground rattled again as he thundered in the most demonic voice:

"_**Since**_**, **_my friend, you have revealed your_

_Deepest fear,_

_I sentence you to be exposed before _

_Your peers. _

_**TEAR DOWN THE WALL!!**__"_

The citizens of Uru'baen began chanting, "TEAR DOWN THE WALL!" as torches and pitchforks appeared in their hands out of nowhere.

"TEAR DOWN THE WALL!

"TEAR DOWN THE WALL!

"TEAR DOWN THE WALL!

"TEAR DOWN THE WALL!"

"No! Please!" begged Murtagh. "Please, please don't! I'll do anything!" Everyone besides Tornac, Nasuada, and Selena marched to the iron-hard brick wall around Uru'baen, leaving the courtroom almost deserted.

"We'll be with you," whispered Selena, embracing her son in a motherly way. "No matter what. Even after the wall falls."

"What's going on?" whined Murtagh as he and Selena parted. "I don't understand! Why am I trapped in my head? Why did I just sing my way through a trial!"

All three just smiled sadly.

A red dragon's head slunk through the courtroom entrance. _Murtagh,_ said Thorn. _Stay strong. Just hold on a little longer._

_What do you mean, Thorn?_ Asked Murtagh as he scurried over to nuzzle his dragon, the other three following close behind.

_You'll see._ Thorn ruffled his hair. _It'll be okay._

Murtagh took a deep breath. "So I guess… I'm about to go crazy? If I haven't already?"

Tornac grinned weakly. "Insane or not, I still consider you family, Price Tag. We'll be with you forever. Even outside the wall."

Nasuada flung into her Murtagh's arms and kissed him passionately. It felt so _real_. It couldn't have been a dream…

The kiss continued for a few moments. Tornac looked away, and Selena just smiled, happy her boy found someone to make his world a little less miserable.

As they broke apart, Nasuada breathed, "I'll love you even beyond the end, Price Tag." She chuckled softly. "If we get out of this, will you promise me something, Murtie?"

"Anything, Nas."

"Will you promise to propose to me?" she asked hopefully.

Murtagh gazed deep in her eyes. "Of course, Nas. I promise." He smirked. "I've already got the ring."

The five of them circled into a group hug that would last until the wall collapsed. Murtagh looked around the faces of his loved ones. "Where's Eragon?"

Nasuada smiled slyly. "Saving you."

Murtagh didn't quite understand. "Saving me?"

They huddled closer.

"I'm gonna miss you guys," whispered the rider to his mother, friend, lover, and dreagon.

They just grinned halfheartedly. "We'll be with you," said Tornac. 'Even outside the wall."

In the background, the chanting had morphed into a cheering as the rumbling of a gigantic brick wall filled Murtagh's senses.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there is your Murtagh-oriented chapter. You happy now? (Jeeze, some people… lol.) So, tell me what you think about it, and I'm sorry if you think I'm totally crazy, but I am. And this should be the last weird chapter for a while… Actually, at all. :D Unfortunately the stupid internet killed the format of the story so it didn't turn out all lyric-eey...

**PLEASE review!!** I'm sorry if I'm weird and you totally hated this chapter and I creep you out! :( Most of this whole chapter I would have to give hands up to Pink Floyd for inspiring me to write it. Not quite a songfic... More like a musical!!

**PLEASE REVIEW!!**

**Who's scared of Mrs. Morzansson? (raises hand)**


	24. Get Me My Loonyick!

**A/N: Okay, so here's the next chappie! Hopefully it's semi-normal…Btw, I doubt I spelled some spells correctly…lol Lame title for the chappie, I know. I tried my hardest to get Murtagh in here - don't worry, he is. SO DONT SKIP IT!!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Eragon**

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Chapter 24 - Get Me My Loonyick!

Nasuada was placed in Galbatorix's room. A chandelier filled with candles while Galbatorix was busy taking care of the situation outside. The last she saw of him, he was following her and the fat man up to his chambers. Then a messenger came along and reported to him that Saphira had burnt down one of the gunpowder stores.

And so she sat, her heart beating absolutely terrified. What would happen to her?

Suddenly, a rap on the door made her jump. Galbatorix was coming… "Who is it?" she called.

"House keeping," came a familiar low grunt.

Nasuada walked to the door and turned the knob. In the hallway was a short, burly man with a thick dwarf accent. "Orik!"

Orik gazed at Nasuada in shock. "Milady! I'm so glad you're safe! Did Galbatorix hurt you?" he added threateningly.

Nasuada looked at him. "No, not at all! I'm fine. He hasn't even laid a finger on me," she said. "Well, besides the fact I was used as blackmail. He stuck a knife to my throat, but I'm fine now!"

Orik growled. "He hasn't…"

"No, Orik," said Nasuada firmly. "But we must leave before he comes back." She thought for a moment. "But if I leave… Murtagh will pay for it."

Orik blinked. "Murtagh? He's here? I thought he stayed beck in Surda!"

"He did, Orik," said Nasuada. "But he was kidnapped and brought here." She sniffed. "He's dead."

Orik's lip twitched for a millisecond. "Is that so?"

Nasuada's sniffs transformed into a sob for a minute, then she recollected herself. She must stay a strong leader. "Yes. He's dead, and there's no way he's coming back. Now, I suggest we leave before Galbatorix comes back." She flung the door open and ran down the hall, Orik close behind.

"Hold on a moment," said Orik. "He wouldn't let you out of his site without heavy guard. There must be a trap somewhere."

"You're right," chimed Nasuada. "Something's wrong…"

On either side of the hall, about a dozen guards blocked the exits. "We're trapped!" cursed Orik. "You have your sword?"

"No," admitted Nasuada. She bent down and reached under her skirts. Her hand instinctively found the knife she always hid that was tied to her right leg. She pulled it out and examined the sharp blade. "But I have this." Her grip tightened on the handle.

Orik pulled out his sword. "You'll have to kill us before we surrender." Then he muttered into Nasuada's ear, "They didn't bug me when I crept past them earlier…"

"Tell me the story when we're out of here, and tell me how you found me in this maze of rooms," Nasuada mumbled back to him.

The soldiers pulled out their swords. "Galbatorix instructed us to kill you if you tried to escape," hissed one of them.

Nasuada laughed. "That's a petty death threat, soldier. You'll just have to kill me." She was always prepared to give her life for her cause. Here was her chance.

The dozen guards moved forward, prepared to fight. "Ready, men!" one of them hollered. "Attack!"

* * *

Roran twiddled his thumbs as he sat next to a sleeping Murtagh. His cousin's facial expression appeared slightly fearful. Whatever was running through his mind, Murtagh obviously didn't like it.

Roran felt anxious. Why did he send Eragon to go kill the king by himself? He didn't think! Eragon was a sixteen year-old boy, not an eight hundred year old tyrant who was practically a shade. If Eragon died, Roran would never forgive himself. He sighed and gazed down at Murtagh, having nowhere else to look.

Murtagh looked so much like Eragon it was unbelievable, but at the same time they were exact opposites. Their faces were almost entirely different, but the had the same build and body. They had the same hands, expressions, ankles. Eragon looked so much like Selena in the face, and Murtagh looked like… who? Roran concluded that Murtagh must be like Morzan. So many people despised Murtagh just because he was the spitting image of his father. Roran pitied him for it.

Murtagh muttered something, making Roran flinch. His head snapped in his cousin's direction, only to be disappointed to see him still asleep. Would he ever wake up? _Sure he will,_ thought Roran. He's cheated death a thousand times before, so why not now? If he passed away now, he would be eight hundred years ahead of his time. Roran sighed anew, staring at his cousin's bruised face. "You'll be fine," he said, trying to convince himself. "Your insane brother needs you. Jeeze, he's a clingy thing." Roran laughed. "Most people think you're the lunatic of the family, but I really think Eragon isn't right in the head sometimes, if you know what I mean." He knocked on his cranium. "You ever felt like you were losing your mind? Yeah, probably."

Murtagh just lay there snoozing.

"But believe me, you're _way_ more sane than your brother, despite the fact he told me you cracked."

* * *

Eragon ran through the castle, angered. Murtagh was dying! Again! For the third time in a month! He didn't care who heard his footsteps - anyone who appeared a threat he just muttered a few words and down they went.

And what about the Varden and Nasuada? Nasuada could handle herself, but the Varden was most likely being bombarded by soldiers and angry citizens. It made Eragon feel a twinge of guilt. His cause were murdering so many innocent.

He had more important things than Murtagh to worry about, he decided. Much more important. Looking back on his goodbye to his brother, he realized he may have been over the top with his brotherly love. But the man was dying_. Many people act over the top when they have loved ones dying, I guess_, Eragon justified.

His feet pounded against the floor below him. _Have to find Nasuada._ He wove his way through the palace, his elven legs carrying him seven times the speed of an ordinary human. He came to an abrupt halt when he witnessed about six guards cluttered together about thirty feet away. They plucked out their swords.

Someone yelled, "Ready, men!"

_This isn't good_, thought Eragon. _Saphira!_

His dragon read his thoughts. _Kill them._

_My, aren't you merciful?_ Eragon muttered a few words in the ancient language. Instantly, the soldiers shuddered and sank to the hard floor. Warily, he walked over to where they were standing.

Nasuada and Orik stared at him, dumbfounded. "Bloody hell," said the Varden leader. "Did you just kill those men with magic?"

"Yes," said Eragon. "I just said one word and they died!"

The guards on the opposite side of the hall were shaken. "C'mon, men! The lady isn't worth all our lives!" They kicked up their heels and ran like the wind. "Let's get out of here!"

Nasuada blinked and said slowly, "Well… that was easy." Her face sobered. "Orik, what's happening outside?"

The dwarf's face darkened with concentration. "Several civilian casualties, homes are being burnt down, Shruikan is being oddly cooperative. But other than that, it's going according to plan."

"Right." Nasuada inhaled deeply.

"Civilians are dying?" said Eragon, a ridiculous expression on his face.

"It is to be _expected_, Eragon. They're caught in the crossfire. It happens during almost every battle, major or not," said Nasuada in a don't-argue tone. "Where were you headed?"

"I was hunting the king."

"He's attending business somewhere, most likely outside, Shadeslayer." Nasuada sized him up. "I suppose you are to challenge him to a duel, are you not?"

Eragon clenched his fists, another bloodlust rising. "Yes." Unexpectedly, he stomped his foot and yelled in frustration. "He's ruined so many lives!"

Nasuada made a motion to run her fingers through her hair, only to realize she propped it up for the battle. "We'll go with you."

"No!" snapped Eragon. "I want to do this myself!"

"Eragon," shot Orik vehemently, "we want to help. We all are prepared to die for the Varden; we grew up to fight for this cause. _We want to go._"

"He'll kill you instantly," said Eragon emotionlessly. "There's no point in you dying, too." His eyes were begging. "_Please_ stay here. I can't bear another death on my shoulders."

Orik and Nasuada turned their backs on him and conversed for a moment. Eventually, they swiveled around and glared at him darkly. "As you wish," said the dwarf.

Eragon let go of the breath he was holding. "Good. I must be going." Before he started to run at elven speed, Nasuada called, "Eragon?"

He gazed at her. "Yes, milady?"

"Good luck," the other two said in unison.

Eragon smiled, his heart beginning to pound. "Thank-You." He stretched his legs forward, getting the rhythm of jogging at a pace so he could go lighting quick, but nost so fast he couldn't tell where he was going.

He rushed through the palace, checking every corridor, every nook and cranny. Where was the king!

_Outside,_ came Saphira's voice in his head.

_Why didn't you tell me that earlier!_

Saphira made no response as Eragon tried to remember where the main entrance of the castle was.

_That's too obvious,_ chimed his dragon. _He'll capture you immediately. Try a window._

_Thanks. Saphira?_

_Yes?_

_Why was he oblivious to me in the torture chamber?_

Saphira thought for a moment. _Probably occupied with the others. I suppose torture is something that requires undivided attention…_

_Maybe he was just trying to rattle me._

_Well, _snorted Saphira. _He certainly succeeded. You were acting like a homosexual in that torture chamber._

Eragon blinked, a disgusted expression crossing his face. _You're lying._

_Maybe._

By this time Eragon came across an open window. He pushed it enough so he could slip through. "_Riesa._" He gently floated to the ground, staying in the castles shadows the whole time.

Galbatorix was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Roran appeared wide awake, watching his cousin with concern. "Are you ever going to wake up, Murtagh? It does not seem very fair to me that you're dying; I've barely known you. Think about it - a long lost cousin! Don't die right now, okay?"

Murtagh's eyes flickered under their lids.

"WAKE UP!" Roran snapped his fingers. When he received no response, he sighed and examined Murtagh's branding. The pink had worn down, leaving a sickly grayish-black wrinkled _X_ in its place. The skin around the branding was pulled tightly and stretched.

"WAKE UP!" Roran nudged his cousin's shoulder… and his heart skipped a beat.

Murtagh tilted his head to the side at Roran's command. Was it a fluke? Most definitely.

"Murtagh…" Roran gently slapped Murtagh's cheek. "Open your eyes. We _need_ you're military expertise right now! **WAKE UP!**"

Murtagh mumbled incoherently.

Roran's eyes widened. "You awake, Price Tag?"

Slowly, Murtagh cracked open his eyelids. He groaned.

Roran's mouth dropped. "You're awake! I thought you would be asleep forever!"

"Loonyick…" muttered Murtagh.

Roran blinked. "What? Did you say 'lunatic?"'

Murtagh weakly shook his head, a pained expression mixed with confusion etched on his face. "_Loonyick…_"

Roran bent down so his ear was near Murtagh's mouth. "Say that _one_ more time."

Murtagh faintly cried, "_Tunic._"

"Tunic? You want your tunic?" clarified Roran.

Murtagh grimaced and attempted to nod.

"One tunic coming up!" Roran hopped to his feet and looked around. "Where is it?"

"'Rone Roommmm."

"The throne room?"

Murtagh painfully nodded again.

"Where would that be?"

Murtagh's bruised face distorted in frustration. A soft moan escaped his swollen lips.

"Umm… okay, I'll find it. Promise. Stay alive until I get back." Roran felt a small pleasure to see Murtagh smile.

* * *

Eragon skulked in the shadows of the night, scavenging for the king. He cautiously made his way around Uru'baen.

Later on in life, he didn't understand why he didn't just check the Dragon Hold, for that would be the obvious area Galbatorix would be.

Eragon tiptoed around the Dragon Hold, only to see Galbatorix instantly killing the last remaining magician. He watched as Galbatorix unlocked Shruikan from the stable as if they were simply going on a midnight flight.

The king hopped on his dragon. Before they exited the Dragon Hold, Galbatorix grinned. "I suppose Nasuada has escaped by now, otherwise we would not have little Shadeslayer over here spying on us."

The pit of Eragon's stomach fell out. He instinctively gripped his sword. _Saphira! Front and center!_

_I'm coming._

"How did you know I was here?" stalled the Blue Rider. "I believed myself to be doing an excellent job hiding."

"I know most everything, Eragon," chimed the king. "Like the fact there's a way you can bring back Murtagh's sanity, or the fact that there's a way he'll survive." He smirked teasingly obviously soaking in Eragon's expression of flaming curiosity. "But guess what? _I'm not going to tell you._"

Eragon managed to make his expression unreadable. He raised the mental barriers around his mind and strengthened them beyond what he ever had before. "Why not? He's dying anyway. Probably dead right now." He tried his hardest not to make his voice crack.

Galbatorix chuckled. "You'll never know. An you are incorrect; he's still alive. I still feel him trapped in my mind." His smirk widened into a full-fledged, crazy grin. "You really should see sometime the way I _truly_ treat him. You only saw a small portion of the typical punishment." He tapped his chin. "You should have seen him when he came back from the Burning Plains empty-handed. _Willingly_ empty-handed. Not a beautiful scenario at _all._ It would have been extended had you not kidnapped him."

Eragon attempted to control his rage. "This doesn't surprise me," he said in monotone.

"You were very, um, how should I say it? _Vulnerable_, down in those torture chambers. Wanted to give you a little time with him before _your_ torture began."

Eragon's grip on his dwarven sword tightened. _Saphira! _

_Look to your right._

Eragon obliged and saw Saphira swooping down to catch him. _Hop on when I'm close enough._

After a few seconds, her dive reached a minimum. Eragon hopped upon her back and strapped himself in midair.

Following them was a black dragon and the silhouette of a crazed rider.

_This it is, Saphira,_ thought Eragon, his heart racing.

_Yes, it is._

Eragon sighed. _I know I was all mushy down in the torture chambers for one life time, but…_

_I love you,_ Saphira told him, finishing his thought.

_And I you._ He pulled out his sword. "Let's kill ourselves a king."

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry! I tried to get Murtagh in there. I garuntee you the next chappie will be the last non-Murtagh-oriented one in the story! We have about five chapters left… Sorry if I'm totally weirding you out or if you're getting bored with the anti-Murtaghness… lol But he's in it... actually he's an important part of it. :P

HAHA! I uploaded this chapter to two days ago! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA! And I didn't post it :D

**REVIEW PLEASE! IT WOULD MEAN THE WORLD TO ME!!**


	25. Tornado of Corpses

**A/N: WOoT! A long chapter coming and a quick update! And OMG, GUESS WHAT! MURTAGH IS IN THIS CHAPTER A LOT!! Okay, I want to thank everyone who reviewed and sticking with me while you suffered through my lame non-Murtagh chapters! :D Thanks! I really appreciate it!**Oh, I got one review I really would like to point out: something about how Roran going to the throne room and Murtagh wanting his tunic was "kinda stupid." Well, as an answer to that, it TOTALLY IS! You hit the nail on the head! But you see, it's vital that he gets his tunic for this chapter. Whether it was dumb or not. :D

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon. I guess you could say Paolini does, but really I could make a good case on how Lucas owns a great deal of the plot…**

* * *

Chapter 25- Tornado of Corpses

Alas, Roran received much needed directions to the throne room. Oddly enough, he seemed to avoid all guards whatsoever. There happened to be one measly problem: he didn't know how to get back to Murtagh. Searching through random areas, his wandering led him to the healer's quarters; wounded and ill persons lay on dozens of beds of uncomfortable fabric. Many healers swarmed the patience. _Perfect! _thought Roran. _What could Murtagh need more than one of these ladies? _He hastily walked up to a healer while carrying Murtagh's bloody black tunic and black shirt. He found a glass shard laying by his cousin's clothes drenched in the sticky crimson liquid, and he did not know if Murtagh wanted it, so he carefully picked it up and stuffed it with the garments gently draped across his forearm. "Excuse me, miss."

A woman around her thirties with a round face, full hips, and a warm smile pivoted as Roran called her. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"No, not me," Roran's expression morphed into an anxious grimace, and the woman's immediately mirrored his.

"Who?" the woman asked worriedly.

"Someone important! He has been tortured to insanity!" His eyes gave the resemblance of a begging dog. "Please, he requires immediate medical attention! He can barely move his mouth!"

"The torture chamber?" The woman furrowed her eyebrow. "Honey, I could get in to serious trouble for going down there. Life threatening trouble."

Roran unsuccessfully attempted to whip up a fresh batch of tears. Instead he managed to give his eyes a glassy appearance so shiny the woman could see herself in the collected water. "I am begging you. He will die if you don't help!"

The woman sighed. "All right, then. Come with me." She led Roran through the castle and down to the dirty torture chambers.

"He's not in there," said Roran. He redirected her to the branding room across the hall. He thrust open the metal door.

Alas they reached Murtagh. The fat man that earlier performed the branding was still nowhere to be seen after delivering Nasuada.

When the woman first laid eyes on Murtagh, his figure sprawled on the floor, she screamed and rushed over to his side. "My gods!" she exclaimed. "I have never seen this! Usually torture victims either die in their cells or are healed by the king." She firmly placed to fingers on the side of Murtagh's hot neck and took his pulse. She tsked to herself. "Not good. Not good at all. Can you speak? Are you awake?"

Murtagh groaned.

The woman recognized his voice. "Master Murtagh?" She flipped his right hand over, revealing the gedwey ignasia on his palm and gasped. "It is you!"

Murtagh groaned anew.

"Bloody hell," said the woman in amazement. "He really smacked you hard this time!"

Murtagh painfully chuckled as if to say, "This is _nothing_."

The woman muttered a few words; the bruises sprinkled around Murtagh's face and neck as if it were fairy dust simply vanished like they had never been there.

It felt as if someone out Murtagh's worn out vocal cords. "Thanks, Rochelle," he said in a stronger voice than earlier.

"Don't mention it, hun," she said soothingly as her fingers trailed down the rider's shoulders, the injuries disappearing as she touched them. "You ever fix up that chamber of yours?"

Murtagh grinned sleepily. "My chamber?"

"Yes, hun, remember? You were telling me a few months ago how you were planning on reconstructing the place. You said something about it being 'too princely.' I never asked you, why did you not like it?" For the first time she saw the heavy chain slinking around his tiny ankle. Her eyes widened. "Murtagh…why…how…when… why did you never mention this!"

Murtagh's eyes grew to large, fearful orbs. "He hurt me until I promised I wouldn't tell anybody," he said timidly.

"He was not aloud," said Roran sourly.

Murtagh's craziness began to kick in. "Wanna go!" he snarled. He grimaced in frustration. "Want tunic…"

"Here, I have it in my arms," Roran gently said.

Rochelle gazed at Murtagh, concerned. "Hun, why are you talking like that? You never act like that. I can't describe it; it's just… different."

Roran sighed, and Rochelle's attention briefly flickered to him for a moment. "What's that matter with him?" she asked. "I know Murtagh; he's acting odd." She eyed Roran suspiciously. "How do you know him, anyway?"

"I am his cousin," blurted Roran. "He's my long lost cousin. He was separated from me at birth." He massaged his temples. "He's insane. Galbatorix beat him one too many times. Today was the straw the broke the camel's back, I believe the saying is."

Murtagh, now completely healed, groped for his tunic. "Nas…Tunic…"

Rochelle cupped his cheek in a motherly fashion. "My, you have secrets, don't you?" She smiled sadly. "You poor thing! And all this time I thought you were just a warrior with commitment issues and a rare, sweet quality about you, and I find out you were truly a slave all along!"

Obvious to Roran, when she said "commitment issues," she meant his double treachery.

Rochelle's fingers brushed across Murtagh's abdomen, and, inevitably, his branding. "Oh, my…" Rochelle was at a loss for words. "Murtagh, he didn't…"

"Tunic!" screeched Murtagh, on the verge of a tantrum.

Roran rushed to hand the tunic over. Both Rochelle and he watched with fascination as Murtagh groped for his tunic while laying on the floor being mended. He fingers closed around a small artifact and stuffed it into his legging pocket.

Rochelle finally finished Murtagh's treatment and saw his arm hairs stand up. His whole body was covered in goose bumps as he shivered. "Put his tunic on him, boy!" she snarled at Roran.

"Roran. That's my name." He said irritably. He grabbed Murtagh's shirt. It was a great deal easier to dress him than he assumed it would be now that Murtagh was fully healed. His cousin shot into the sitting position at breakneck speed, as if he were hyper and grinned from ear to ear. "You wear anything other than black, buddy?"

"Nope."

Roran buckled up Murtagh's tunic and picked up the jagged red glass shard that now lay on the floor. "I brought this, too. I didn't know if you wanted it."

Murtagh's eyes lit up, entranced. "It's pointy…" Giant purpleish-black bags rimmed his eyes, his skin still held a faint tint of sickly yellow, and his hair was knotted. He stared at the shard hungrily.

He looked absolutely bonkers.

"You shouldn't give glass to him!" shot Rochelle. "He's reverting to a child; children get into several incidents involving glass."

"He's almost twenty."

Their heads snapped to face Murtagh, only to realize the cutting tool vanished.

"Murtagh," said Rochelle warily. "Where did you put it?"

Murtagh blinked innocently. "Put what where?"

"_Murtagh,_" said Rochelle in the tone one would use to scold a toddler. "Give it to me or you shall be grounded from riding Thorn until further notice!" She stretched out her hand, waiting for the glass to be given to her.

Murtagh's eyes sparkled. "But…" Then his eyes set into a pout.

Neither Rochelle nor Roran expected what he did next.

He ran like hell. He ran out of the branding room and up the stairs and out of eyesight.

Roran and Rochelle just stood there, dumbfounded. "Well," stated Roran. "That worked well."

"I wonder where he thinks he's going?"

Roran shrugged. "He probably doesn't have a destination…. It's indubitably strange that he has such strength after being branded… I was told no one has ever survived such."

"Maybe they were all beaten first," suggested Rochelle, the two still staring stupidly at the doorway. "That mixed with the branding probably killed them."

"Damn, he can run. Do you think we should follow him?"

"Yes," sighed Rochelle. "I just don't think we'll find him in time."

* * *

Eragon concealed his fear in a down right pissed-off expression, but he knew the king would not buy it. It was impossible for a man to _not_ cower before the dictator. He gripped his sword - smooth, balanced, comfortable feeling. His pulse beat under his fingertips, temporarily preventing a strong sense of touch.

Saphira flapped her wings around him in a steady, calm rhythm as the cold air bit his nerves.

The king appeared a small ant on Shruikan's massive black back. "Scared?" cooed Galbatorix. "Why don't we summon your broken family up? You can watch while I kill each individual member."

"Come and get me, you bastard!" hissed Eragon. He planned on fighting a defensive aerial battle. "Why isn't your dragon wearing armor?"

"Simple," snarled Galbatorix. "This will be a quick and easy victory; no need for such precautions."

_Save your strength,_thought Saphira.

_I will. Promise._

Galbatorix raised his sword, and Eragon tightened his grip on his.

Shruikan dove straight for Saphira and swooped under her, his banana long fangs aimed for her hind leg. Saphira looped out of the way; Shruikan barely missed her.

Eragon's mind sucked and stored energy from enemy soldiers below. "Take to the heavens, Saphira!"

Saphira shot in a vertical line at top speed directly for the stars in the cloudless sky, Shruikan hot on her tail.

Eragon eventually grew short on breath, his lungs shutting down at such a high altitude.

Shruikan still soared right after Saphira. Just when he was about to bite off the end of her tail, the glittering blue dragon curved and dove downward, her back facing Shruikan's.

Eragon was temporarily in sword reach of Galbatorix. He thrust out his dwarven weapon and clashed it with Galbatorix's, who apparently hand the same idea.

Saphira twisted her body around about twenty feet from the ground and hovered while watching Shruikan warily.

_They're coming back!_Cursed Eragon.

"Thrysta!" shouted the king. A compacted ball of air swiftly headed for Eragon's skull.

Saphira barely had enough time to spiral out of the way, the ball's force making her scales tingle. She spun around and spat a series of red and orange fireballs in Shruikan's general direction, but the dragon easily maneuvered around them effortlessly.

Saphira charged and did exactly as Shruikan attempted to pull on her- she swooped beneath him and snapped at his hind leg, only this time she was far more lucky. She felt Shruikan's scales crunch vibrate through her teeth, his flesh rip, and a gush of warm blood rush into her mouth as her jaw sunk further and further into Shruikan's limb.

Shruikan roared in pain and whipped his tail with lightning fast speed, pelting Saphira square in between her eyes.

_Saphira! Are you okay?_asked Eragon worriedly.

Her vision quickly returned to normal, but other than a torn up scale she appeared fine. _I am all right._

"Whoop!" hollered Eragon. "First blood, baby!"

Galbatorix growled.

Shruikan staggered, but the wound was not deep enough for him to land, and he sprung back towards Saphira with new motivation. As if hacking up mucus, he spewed rapid balls of fire in every direction.

Saphira's armor on her tail and the nape of her neck were singed leaving a dark brown mark where the flames made impact. She ducked in time to avoid another round of flames, but the third rough hit her belly, causing her to roar in surprise and pain, her belly being unprotected.

Eragon clutched his stomach as white hot pain tingled in his abdomen. _Saphira!_

_I'm fine, little one,_ she told him, dazed. _Dragons are naturally protected from fire; it did not hurt as badly as it affected you._

Enraged, Eragon twisted his body around and firmly outstretched his arm. "Brisinger!" Blue embers erupted from his palm as his gedwey ignasia shone brighter than the peaceful moon. But as the embers reached Shruikan, the dissolved into thin air. Eragon blinked. "Thrysta!" the compressed ball of fire smashed hard against an invisible barrier.

_He has a shield surrounding him!_

Saphira growled deep within her chest. _It appears that in order to defeat him, we must rely on physical attacks. No magic._

Eragon nodded, his focus strained on the king. _No magic._

Shruikan was once again in pursuit of Saphira. The sapphire dragon swiveled around and charged towards the coal one with full force.

The two dragons crashed into each other in a tangle of grunts, roars, and colorful curses from their riders. Shruikan managed to sink his jagged iron-hard daggers into Saphira's back directly over her spine a few feet away from Eragon, who watched as an onyx head bigger than he was tried to break through his dragon's mail. The _crack!_ of the breaking material was unmistakable.

Eragon flinched slightly as he hissed along with Saphira's mighty clamor. Shruikan's dagger-like teeth dug deeper into her body with every passing second! He furrowed his brow. _Focus! _Eragon raised his sword, attempting to ignore the pain. He speedily untied himself from Saphira's saddle and shakily inched towards Shruikan.

Shruikan, oblivious to Eragon, sunk his daggers further and further into Saphira's skeletal structure.

Eragon, his heart pounding and adrenaline rushing, raised his sword above his head and rammed it straight through Shruikan's exposed eye.

The dragon thundered so loud that Eragon temporarily thought he killed him. Shruikan immediately recoiled from Saphira's back, both the former and the latter leaking blood all over the people below. Shruikan threw back his head in immense pain, giving Saphira just enough time to gnaw at his exposed neck. She ripped at the flesh, hearing the successful tear of the dragon's throat.

Shruikan tumbled to the ground and crash landed.

_Great work, Saphira!_ Congratulated Eragon. _You killed him!_

_I wouldn't be so sure, _responded the dragon.

_What about your injury?_

_Not deep enough to worry about right now._

Galbatorix hopped off of Shruikan and assessed his wound. After a few seconds, Shruikan's throat was as good as new.

"Damn it," spat Eragon. "Wait… why isn't he getting up?"

Galbatorix's unmistakable anguish filled the air.

"Bloody hell, Saphira, you killed him! You killed the bastard!"

"_**SHADESLAYER!**_" called Galbatorix. "**COME DOWN HERE AND FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!**"

"Why should I?" yelled Eragon. "I have you right where I want you."

The king roared and yelled something incoherent in the Ancient Language.

All the dead bodies littering the ground slowly rise up to the air as the wind picked up to tornado speed.

Galbatorix waved his arm in a circling motion, and all of the bloody corpses began rotating around each other with the wind. And rotating and rotating and rotating until finally trees uplifted along with the dead bodies. Homes were torn from the soil and slashed apart by invisible claws, collecting with the other debris until finally nothing on the ground was left but fighting soldiers and bloodlust scurrying from the spiraling tornado of corpses. "**IF YOU DON'T COME DOWN, I'LL DESTROY EVERYTING AND EVERYONE YOU HOLD DEAR CURRENTLY WITHIN A THOUSAND MILE RADIUS OF HERE AND ADD THEM TO THE TORNADO!**"

Eragon watched the bodies and rubbish slowly advancing towards Saphira.

_Go down there, young one. Fight him. May the gods be with you._Saphira gently landed down some twenty feet from Galbatorix. The armies were no longer fighting; they were staring at their king in amazement.

"Cease the tornado, Galbatorix, and I'll fight you!" snarled Eragon.

Galbatorix snapped his fingers. The tornado immediately stopped and trash the size of houses and corpses of fallen warriors and civilians flew through the air. "You don't call the shots." He drew sword.

"And neither do you," said Eragon quietly. "Not for much longer."

Galbatorix scanned the two armies gazing at him, flabbergasted. "Get back to fighting, you scum, or I'll personally torture each of you individually!"

As expected, the king's men immediately began hacking away at the rebels. The attention was no longer upon him or the blue rider.

_Remember,_ chimed Saphira's voice in Eragon's head. _Galbatorix is weak without Shruikan or his right hand man._

Eragon quickly plucked out his sword and thrust his blade against the kings in a heavy uppercut, only to have the blade easily deflected. Eragon than, at elven speed, performed a side slash, than another uppercut, than… the battle between the two raged for eons, neither seeming to gain an upper hand.

That was, until the old king began growing short of breath.

Eragon easily slashed away, slitting the king's right shin, his stomach, his collarbone, and his left arm. Angrily, Eragon displayed the most intricate sword patterns he knew until…

The king cried out in pain. His right arm in the utmost pain. His hand had been hacked off. He clutched it and sank to his knees.

Eragon, a feeling of triumph overcoming him, placed the blade next to the tyrants neck. "Any last words?" he said cockily.

"Yes," replied Galbatorix. "_Manin knifr._"

Eragon dropped his sword and cradled his head as a million daggers pecked at his brain. Their sharp points felt like fifty thousand irons being placed on his skin. He staggered and fell to the ground, writhing in pain while the king slowly stood up, caressing the stump where his hand was. He vehemently began his attack on Eragon's mind with even more intense power and more daggers.

Eragon felt himself seep into unconsciousness. _Saphira!_

_I can't get to you!_ cried the dragon. _He has me locked in place! Stay strong, Eragon, do not consent to sleep!_

Eragon focused as hard as he could on blocking his mind, but the daggers were too forceful. Suddenly, the pain let up, leaving a numbing tingling in its place.

"Now," sneered Galbatorix. "I'm going to kill you whether you have the only female dragon or not. You killed Shruikan, and you must pay for that." He grinned sadistically. "_Any last words?_" he said, imitating Eragon.

Eragon, his vision in and out of focus, smirked. "Yes," he said casually. "Look behind you."

"Huh?" Galbatorix pivoted around…and was hit square in the throat by a sharp object. Blood oozed from his next as he staggered and collapsed to the ground, hissing for air."Eragon…" he rasped. "Who…"

Eragon grinned toothily and stared at the bloody glass shard protruding from his neck. He chuckled and turned to see one very hateful man with a disgusted expression on his face shaking with anger. "Well," he said, staring at the dark haired rider clad entirely in black that threw the glass shard. Galbatorix's rasps were growing fainter and fainter. "About time you had your revenge."

Murtagh smiled slightly, still shaking with hate. And as Galbatorix drew his last breath, the heavy ankle chain shattered into a million pieces.

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**A/N: WOOT! HE'S DEAD! Bloody hell, that took three hours to write so you better not bitch about it! And I expect several reviews because I skipped a trip into town to type this up. PLENTY of reviews. **

**So what did you think of it? REVIEW, PLEASE! And thanks for all the reviews I received from prior chapters. Limh, I wasn't originally planning on having Murtagh kill him, but then it occurred to me that if what I want to happen in the next chapters to happen, he should probably kill Galbatorix! :P Review. I'm so happy I finally killed him!**


	26. My Chocolate Rose

**A/N:** Yay! Another chapter! Okay, I finally decided to type this sucker up! Woot! Okay, so here it is! I have a feeling this may be filler-like, though I'm sticking some important unanswered questions in here, so idk… Yeah, yeah, the chapter title makes it sound all mushy goo-goo, but it really isn't. I know it's a quick update, but I have a lotta time this week. And thanks for all the reviews for last chapter! :P

**Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon**

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Chapter 26- My Chocolate Rose

Eragon lay in a thin, hard white bed. _It is ridiculous how uncomfortable this furniture is,_ he thought while in a tent resting in Uru'baen. The fallen bodies were conveniently heaped together thanks to Galbatorix's little tornado.

Eragon examined his surroundings. Dozens of beds - little rock mattresses with flimsy supports and an thin, itchy blue blanket - like his were aligned in four neat rows. Almost every individual resting spot was occupied, and this was only one of the several medical tents that littered the area. Several healers scurried about.

Galbatorix's army were now their fellow countrymen; people conversed and mingled with their former foes that lay in beds beside them. People were forgiving and moving on passed the hostility.

Truthfully, Eragon felt just fine. He had just been admitted because of some military leaders taking extra precautions. Most of his strength had been given to Saphira, who needed all the energy she could store because of her wound, which, thankfully, had been mended. Eragon grinned. _What would we do without Roran?_ It was in fact Roran who summoned the healers from within the castle to tend the injured warriors and civilians. It surprised Eragon how many healers Galbatorix kept in his palace.

Eragon crept out of bed.

A healer whacked him in the back of the head with one forceful hand. "Get back in there!" she hollered, indicating the rough mattress.

"Owe!" he snapped, rubbing his abused skull. "I'm fine, all right? I'll be back later." A lie, of course. "I'm just checking on my liege lord and brother a few tents from here."

The healer sighed. "Fine but hurry back!"

Eragon quickly dashed out of the tent before the healer changed her mind. Outside, tents were scattered around in a very unorganized fashion. He ignored the three closest tent and came to a fourth one some thirty yards away and walked in.

Inside was almost exactly like his medical tent, only different figures and faces. His eyes scanned the injured until they rested upon Nasuada, and Murtagh sleeping on a bunk beside her. There was no point in talking to Murtagh while he gently snored so quietly you would have thought he was merely breathing heavily. Eragon knew Nasuada was unharmed; she was placed in the tent for the same reason he was. She only consented to get medical attention to keep an eye on Murtagh. Eragon walked to her side, careful to remain unnoticed by the soldiers that had been constantly praising his name for two days. He pulled a chair up from a nearby cot and smacked it down beside Nasuada's bedside. He sat down and gazed at her dozing form thoughtfully.

It had been two days since the fall of Galbatorix. Eragon clearly remembered how the moment Murtagh thrust the glass shard into Galbatorix's unguarded neck, the ankle chain exploded and shot metal for about a foot radius of his brother's heel. Instantly, Murtagh's eyes had rolled into the back of his head and he staggered. Eragon had raced over and caught him in just enough time before he slapped against the ground. Since then, the story has flown through the camp of the king's death, each tail becoming more and more gruesome and heroic sounding. The story recounted Eragon's legendary battle, - which was probably half way to Dras Leona by now - how he survived Galbatorix's unmatchable mind attack, and how just when all hope was lost the king's courageous, abused apprentice pulled a bloody glass shard the size of a mirror out of his tunic and threw it at the king with perfect aim and such power the shard totally impaled the tyrant.

As the stories grew more and more amazingly valiant and detailed, Eragon found himself being constantly interrogated by people with wide eyes.

"Is it true Murtagh planned on murdering the king all along?"

"Did Shruikan's claws really crush Saphira's ribs, and she still fought?"

"Is it true the glass shard went straight through Galbatorix's throat?"

"Is it true the Raz'ac tortured you and Murtagh?"

At first, Eragon denied anything but the facts. But soon he realized how eager the people were to hear the tale. He realized the way their eyes lit up with the mention of his brother, so anything involving Murtagh's heroism and hate for the empire, he entirely encouraged. He even told them of Murtagh's little torture scene (he left out the insanity part) and how he took it like a man to save the leader of the Varden. Hell, he even agreed to the theory that Murtagh had been a Varden spy all along who willingly ruined his name for the cause.

All in all, he had quite a bit of fun telling the people the bull shit they ate up like starving dogs. It was amusing. And beneficial. However, one thing that had been worrying him was, in fact, Murtagh himself. Was he not mentally ill? Just because he was a lunatic did not make him incapable. He could have easily killed Galbatorix and still be mad! He had been asleep ever since the ankle chain broke. Eragon was relieved when soldiers discovered other slaves who all had fainted as well. By now, most of them had already woken up, though.

One thing that deeply fascinated him was Murtagh's _physical_ being. In his sleep, Murtagh seemed to be gaining muscle mass by the minute. The yellow tint to his skin had completely vanished, his biceps, quads, pegs, and every other muscle in his body seemed more and more defined, yet all he did was sleep. Not only that, but every now and then bruises would just randomly appear on Murtagh's body. It startled Eragon, and the healers were speechless, but before they could heal them the bruises, cuts, burns, and whatever else disappeared as if they were only an illusion. There was even one point in time where Murtagh's body was entirely blackened with third degree burns, but less than an hour later his physical being had returned to normal.

Eragon sighed, totally confused.

Nasuada, upon hearing Eragon sigh and pull up a chair said, "Good morning, Shadeslayer. How have you been surviving the torrent of people interrogating you?" She kept her eyes closed, not giving up on somehow falling asleep.

"All right. It's annoying, and I try to avoid it, but it actually has been rather enjoyable," he said. "It's giving Murtagh much positive publicity."

"You and him both," mumbled Nasuada, smiling. "It's really changing people's outlook on him. Actually, quite a few people have come in the tent to admire him, only to be dismayed to see him unconscious."

"Excuse me, milady," came an unexpected voice.

"Orik," acknowledged Nasuada. She huffed and opened her eyes, giving up on rest. She propped herself up against the wall to get a better look at the two men beside her. "I take it you're here for political reasons. Ruining my nap."

Orik flushed. "Yes, milady. I am truly sorry about that."

Nasuada massaged her temple. "It's fine. Tell me what's on your mind."

"Right," stated Orik seriously. "Arya-"

"Speak of the devil," interrupted Arya. She pulled up a chair as Orik and Eragon had done and gracefully sat down. "Excuse me, but I did not want to miss what Orik has to say." She had a bandage around her head much like Murtagh had in Farthen Dur.

"As you were saying, Orik," chimed Eragon.

"Right," said the dwarf. "A new king and queen must be instated immediately. Mayhem will break loose in Alagaesia. We need someone who knows a great deal of politics and the former system. We need someone who can reform the Empire so one man does not have so much power as before. We need someone who has the repsect of the people, someone who can control them."

"Well," pondered Nasuada. "Who do you have in mind?"

Orik shrugged. "The dwarves are still debating the fact. The obvious choice is Shadeslayer."

Eragon shook his head. "I'm sorry, Orik, but I honestly do _not_ know much about what actually happens within the walls of Uru'baen or what nobles do or the responsibilities of a ruler. King would be an unwise occupation for me." He chuckled. "I honestly think I would be rather miserable, too."

Orik nodded. "I shall alert the dwarves of your decision."

"Arya?" began Nasuada. "What do-" She was cut off by a cough.

All four heads turned in the direction of Murtagh's bed.

Murtagh opened his eyes groggily and coughed some. "Bloody hell," he croaked. "Where am I?"

"Murtagh!" exclaimed Eragon. He pulled his chair away from Nasuada's bunk to his brother's. Arya followed suit; Nasuada hopped out of bed and grabbed a chair to sit in, and Orik eventually repeated Arya's actions. The four watched intently as Murtagh blinked hard and adjusted to the light.

Nasuada gazed at him with concern. "You all right?" she asked nervously.

Murtagh stared at her like a zombie and yawned.

"Oh no," cried Eragon. Neither he or Nasuada mentioned Murtagh's little sanity problem to anyone else. "Murtagh, quick, say something. Something that makes sense."

Arya and Orik looked at him questioningly.

Murtagh continued to rub his head. "Eragon? Where am I?"

"You're in a medical tent, Murtagh," said Nasuada. "My bed is right beside yours."

Murtagh still stared at everyone like a zombie.

"Wow," said Orik. "He really has a case of morning exhaustion. He's really not with it."

Eragon bit his lip.

Murtagh yawned again. "I feel so…_light._" He smiled the most wholehearted smile in two years. "It feels nice." He stretched and put his hands behind his head. "I like this feeling. Haven't felt this way in a while." He looked so bliss and happy, everyone else had to grin also.

"Wow," said one injured soldier from Galbatorix's army. He stared at Murtagh in awe. "Did you really murder him?"

Murtagh's expression fell momentarily, but he recollected himself. "If you mean the king, yes. I killed him." He chuckled humorlessly. "Murder makes it sound like it was out of cold blood, though. Let's go with 'killed.'"

Eragon and Nasuada exchanged relieved glances. Murtagh was talking and acting like a sane person. "Murtagh," said Eragon slowly. "Do you remember anything?"

"Of course I do," chuckled Murtagh, his light mood radiating from every pore. "I remember being in Surda wandering around moodily. I remember someone smashing my head against something hard and a bag being thrown over my head. Then the next thing I knew, I was in the throne room being…" he looked at Eragon and Nasuada. "Being whipped."

Orik grunted. "Galbatorix beat you?"

Murtagh nodded. "Yes. I needed to be punished for running away. He whipped me mercilessly, and for some reason Galbatorix twisted me into thinking Eragon was doing the beating."

Orik's and Arya's heads turned to Eragon.

"He only made me think it was him whipping me!" lied Murtagh. "Eragon had nothing to do with it in reality."

Eragon shifted guiltily.

"Then he took us to the torture chambers and had Eragon throw me in the pool. I almost drowned and then…" he shuddered. "They took me to the branding room and stuck an iron on my skin. It hurt like… I can't describe it. It hurt terribly. And then…" His gaze grew distant, unaware that the whole medical tent were now listening, hanging on his every word. His fingers brushed upon the spot where the iron pressed against his skin. He looked down, surprised. The skin had almost completely healed. "Well, that's odd. Where did the branding go?"

Nasuada shrugged. "We don't know, Murtagh. All of your wounds are being healed. Your branding has been disappearing for the past two days. Unfortunately, all your bruises and cuts are being replaced by different ones. We don't know what's happening."

Whispers filled the tent.

"Well," stated Arya. "that piece of information will be all the way to Surda by the end of the day."

"And then what happened?" called a soldier in the tent with a bandage around his torso.

Murtagh looked to the ceiling. "I'm not entirely sure. I remember my mind short circuiting. I felt like a scared little kid. It was so… odd." He rubbed his forehead anew. "I couldn't think clearly. I could hardly see clearly. My attention span was small. My mind was floating, but I believed everything everyone told me like a sponge, soaking up everything. Then Galbatorix told Eragon to tell me he never wanted to see me again, threatening to kill Nasuada if he didn't." He closed his eyes, thinking. "Eragon told me he hated me in order to protect Nasuada. I believed him. I remember my mind getting hazy and blood dripping off my lashes… I was dying, though I didn't realize it at the time. I fell asleep, unaware that I wouldn't wake back up. I had the most… _unusual_ dream. I dreamt I was trapped in my mind. The dream told me I was crazy, and that if I ever got better to…"

Everyone stared at Murtagh intently.

"To what?" asked Orik, who surprisingly was fascinated with Murtagh's tale.

"…Nothing," he muttered. "But I woke up. I didn't know how lucky I was that Roran was there. He ran through the castle and brought back a healer to the branding room, where I was. It was all so strange. I couldn't think. All that was in my mind was fear and pain. Like I was… _crazy_."

"Well," sighed Nasuada. "You were. When they branded you, you were just acting _off_."

Murtagh laughed. "That would make sense. I was feeling _off_. Anyway, I was healed, and Roran handed me the glass shard I had on my person earlier. I took it and ran like hell up the stairs and outside. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I was going somewhere important. Like my feet were leading me to fate." He shrugged. "I ran through the dismembered bodies and the wounded until I saw Eragon clutching his head with Galbatorix sneering above him. My warped mind originally backed away by instinct. But then I saw Eragon screaming with apparently new pain, and my fear was replaced with the hate I have always felt for the king. A powerful hate I'm sure all of you feel."

The people in the tent nodded.

"I was so angry and hateful that I began shaking. My ill mind instantly narrowed Galbatorix down to the source of all my problems, and my hand seemed to pull out the glass shard in my tunic on its own. When the king turned around, I thrust the glass with all the fury I've ever felt towards him for ruining my life. My ankle chain shattered, and I woke up sane again. My original body mass before I became a slave is coming back, like the universe is rewinding itself. Galbatorix is truly dead."

The people in the tent immediately started clapping, whooping, and hollering. Everyone other than the dwarves.

Murtagh smiled bashfully.

Nasuada turned to him. "The war is over," she said softly as the medical tent grew quiet again.

Murtagh nodded. "I guess so, but it will be hard coordinating a new empire."

Nasuada smirked warmly. "They all like you now."

Murtagh laughed loudly, his weightless, healthy body free and bliss for the first time in two years. "I doubt it."

"Of course we do," chimed Arya, and the tent murmured their agreement.

"You killed the dictator," said another of the healer's patients. "We are eternally in your debt."

"No," said Murtagh. "You are _not_ in my debt. I feel much better with him dead than I have in a long, long time. My oaths are lifted from my shoulders." He closed his eyes, taking in the moment. "I truly am a free man."

"Well, being a free man, you can do what you want," hinted Nasuada.

"Within the law," said Murtagh.

"And they like you," continued the Varden leader.

Murtagh looked at her skeptically. "I suppose so."

"So they don't care what you do anymore."

Murtagh tapped his chin. "I suppose so."

"Well, in that case," finished Nasuada, grinning as Murtagh blinked at her questioningly. She stood up and bent over him, their mouths inches apart.

The tent was deathly quiet, wondering what she would do next.

Murtagh backed into his bed, trying to get away from her. "Nasuada! What are you doing?"

Nasuada touched their lips together and kissed him passionately.

Murtagh, catching on, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on to his bed beside him, still glued to each other.

The tent's population stared at them in amazement. Then after a few seconds, the tent filled with cheers, teases, and clapping as the people _ooohed_.

As they pulled apart, the tent still erupting with noise, they rubbed noses.

"I think I like my new hospital buddy," laughed Murtagh.

Eragon stuck out his tongue. "Ew!" he teased. "Get a room!"

"You know," joked Murtagh. "That's not a bad idea."

Eragon pretended to gag and covered his eyes as Murtagh and Nasuada began kissing again profusely.

Arya smiled and Orik stared at Nasuada and Murtagh, shocked.

Murtagh hoisted Nasuada on top of him, the blanket on Murtagh's bunk in between them. He shifted through his tunic and gripped onto a small black box and showed it to Nasuada; everyone in the tent's eyes widened.

Murtagh flipped the box open to reveal a beautiful, expensive-looking ring. "Nasuada," he said bashfully, "You know I love you very, very much. And I was just wondering…well… Will you marry me?"

Nasuada grinned, her heart pounding. "Of course I'll marry you, Price Tag!" she exclaimed unbelievably enthusiastically, the emotion obviously in her voice. She kissed every square inch of his face.

Murtagh blushed and plucked out the ring from the box.

"Awe," teased a voice from the tent. Roran stood in the entryway, swiftly moving to his cousins. "Your hands are shaking, Price Tag."

"Shut up," snapped Murtagh.

Nasuada read the inscription on the golden ring with the embedded crystals and the large diamond. "My Chocolate Rose," she read aloud. "Murtagh, I…"

Murtagh gently slipped the ring on her finger.

Nasuada couldn't hold it in anymore. A tear rolled down her cheek as she kissed him again.

The tent filled with healers _awe_ing and men looking away.

"Ajihad's daughter and Morzan's son. The irony," laughed Arya with her bell laugh.

"I'm happy for you, cousin," said Roran, smiling.

Everyone in the tent looked at him, surprised. "Cousin?" they all said in unison.

"It's just a term of respect," lied Murtagh. Then he said under his breath, "Let's break that to them another day."

* * *

Arya and Eragon walked through the wreckage after dark, the only time they could talk without people harassing Eragon or Murtagh. "So," said the dark haired elf. "It certainly has been an eventful week."

Eragon chuckled. "Indeed. The king is dead, and all of Alagaesia knows Morzan's son and Ajihad's daughter are engaged."

Arya smiled. "I am truly happy for both of them; they've had rough lives. They're both far too young to have such a big burden to have carried in life."

At the thought of age, Eragon's face fell. He hated the subject of age; it made him think of Arya's maturity difference. She thought he was a child.

As if she read his thoughts, she stopped and turned to look at him. "You have survived much, Shadeslayer. You are no longer the you boy I met, but a grown man with the wisdom of an elder." She cupped his cheek. "You have grown."

Eragon flushed. "Thank-You, Arya." He huffed, trying hard not to say or do something rash.

Arya smirked. "You may kiss me if you would like."

Eragon blinked, unbelieving what he said. "Really?"

Arya looked to the heavens. "Yes, Eragon. I do not lie."

Eragon smiled and nervously leaned towards her as she closed her eyes. As he shut his, he saw nothing, but he felt the sureness in the kiss. She really _didn't_ mind the age difference any longer. As they parted, Eragon embraced her warmly. They stayed that way for only Helzvog knows how long.

Eragon looked into the elves eyes. "What are we doing right now?"

Arya smiled. "We're courting. If not more."

Eragon laughed. "Let's wait a few days to tell everyone. Give Murtagh a time to shine."

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**A/N: Okay, long author's note. Unfortunately it's kinda an important one, so you might want to read it...**

Yeah, everyone is happy! Woot! In chapter 19 it says that the engraving is "My chocolate angel." Sorry, it was SUPPOSE to say "my chocolate rose." I guess I had a brain fart that day. :P And yeah, yeah, I know chocolate wasn't invented back then! But I liked it so much I couldn't pass it up. :D Rose kind sounds more lust than love though...

**There are either three or two chapters left, not entirely sure yet! I'm also planning on making a sequel, but I don't know if I should stick it up… I already have the plot and everything, even the title, so it would sort of be a waste of an idea if I didn't post it. Do you think I should make a sequel? The end of Guilty Innocence, I've noticed as I've planned it out, really kind of leaves you hanging. XD**

I want to thank the reviewers who kept nudging me about the Arya/Eragon pairing. Yeah, it was really slight in this story, but it will be heavier in the sequel (If i post it...) Really, thanks for bugging me about it. It kept slipping my mind. I kinda wrapped it up quickly but there is a little more to come... And don't forget the sequel. (I've already got the name for it!) Much more Arya/Eragon in that :D

Also, **I finally put the promised Murtagh/Katrina story up!** Woot! Okay, sorry. I've been on a role lately XD In the next chapter we find out who's the next king! Whoop!

Anywho, **REVIEW PLEASE! IT WOULD MEAN THE WORLD TO ME!!**


	27. The New King

**A/N: Hey, everyone! I'm back and ready for action!** lol I'm sorry if for some reason it seems like I haven't updates in a long time. I was waiting impatiently for my laptop to come in. So, I finally got it, and I shall now type up what will hopefully be the last chapter of Guilty Innocence! Just to warn you,though; i suck at endings. Especially when it's eleven at night! (So, I'm sorry if there are several typos. I'm exhausted.) Though I may just type up the epilogue while I'm here. And you know what else greatly worries me? It hit me about a week ago that Eragon 3 will come out before I finish the sequel to guilty innocence, so it will be outdated! Ah, well, I'm cool with it if you are. **Important: The sequel to Guilty Innocence will be called _Starless Nights_. **So be on the lookout for a story by that name if I'm not on your author alert list already. And thanks for all the awesome reviews!!

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Chapter 27- The New King

"As I was saying earlier yesterday," said Orik officially, "A new king and queen must be established as of immediately. The world will break into mass chaos in between rulers. We _must_ find a new one as quick as possible."

"Thank-You, Orik," said Nasuada. She, along with Eragon, Arya, Roran, and every other important Varden leader for that matter were gathered around a huge, square, glazed wooden table. "As you have said previously, the dwarves believe that Eragon should be the next king."

The table murmured in agreement.

"However," Nasuada continued professionally. "Eragon has expressed his dislike for the occupation. He would rather _not_ be the next king, and I for one do not think that after all he has been through, we should force the burden upon him."

Once again, the people surrounding the large table nodded profusely at her words.

"Have you considered any other possible candidates, Orik?"

Orik gazed at the Varden leader, still amazed she was in love with Morzan's son. Word spread quickly, and by sunrise the whole camp knew of the engagement. It was clearly obvious Nasuada was becoming increasingly irritated with the constant congratulations in good marriage wishers. "No, milady. We are still debating."

Nasuada nodded. "All right then." Her eyes flickered down to Arya in the far right hand corner of the table, practically as distant from Nasuada as possible.

"Well, we have the obvious of course, milady." She smiled warmly to Eragon, who blushed. "But seeing as he does not desire to rule, we also have others. A few in fact. We believe that the king should be replaced by his killer, or Murtagh."

Nasuada blinked. "Murtagh?"

A few dwarves muttered curses under their breath, careful to remain out of earshot of the man's fiancé. But most, surprisingly, did not cringe at the name.

"Arya," said Nasuada slowly. "I don't think the dwarves would…approve."

Arya nodded. "Yes, we assumed as much, which is why we also considered Roran Stronghammer and his future wife, Katrina."

All heads snapped in Roran's direction.

The man shifted. King? Of all of Alagaesia? "I'm flattered," he started, "But I'm afraid I do not have enough experience in the field of politics to take on such a heavy weight."

"We could teach you," said Orik optimistically.

Roran shook his head, his mind set. "I truly am sorry, but I'm afraid my life has consisted of nothing but farm work. You would _not_ want me as your next ruler, I guarantee you. You'll want someone with a little more expertise in the line of work."

Nasuada tapped her chin. "Thank-you. I shall acknowledge your choice." She sighed, massaging her forehead. "Are there anymore candidates?"

People stirred, but no one spoke up.

Nasuada could have screamed! "Well, what about the humans?" It occurred to her that in light of current events, she was unaware what her race's opinion was.

Jormunder strummed his fingers on the wooden table, making the silent room ring out with tiny echoes. "We have a few possibilities."

Nasuada flushed with relief. "Such as?"

Jormunder scanned the room. "We, actually, have three. Roran, Eragon, and, well… Murtagh."

Nasuada glared at him. "I thought we agreed that Murtagh was not an option?"

"Well, milady, we did not technically _agree_ upon it. You just assumed that the dwarves would find Murtagh an unsuitable ruler," retorted Jormunder.

Nasuada made eye contact with the few dwarves in the room. "What do you have to say on the subject?"

The dwarves exchanged looks. Eventually, they all shrugged to each other.

"We'll have to discuss it. But honestly, milady, Murtagh? Do you think it to be a wise decision?"

"Well," spoke Eragon for the first time. "Let's look at this from a political point of view. I know Murtagh, thus I know that he is educated in this field. He grew up in Uru'baen, while eventually he lived in the palace. He knows what every noble person does and their responsibilities, who owned what regions of land, and other such things. Not to mention he has the respect of the people, and he also has the proper mind for such a job; he knows how to rule with enough harshness to have the people abide the law, but he also knows how to rule with enough compassion for them to love their country and the men who run it. Plus, he is extremely knowledgeable about the former system of the empire. He can tell you any little aspect of the government."

After the little speech, everyone was silent for a moment, lost in thoughts.

"Orik?" addressed Nasuada.

Orik tapped his foot absentmindedly. "I will bring this matter up with my people, and I will let you know how they feel on the subject, and I also will relay Eragon's information."

"If the dwarves need proof, just tell them to go and ask Muztagh a pop question about the empire. Anything," said Eragon.

Orik nodded. "I will tell them, Shadeslayer."

* * *

"You're _what?_" said Murtagh, gaping.

"Courting Arya," responded Eragon emotionlessly. Would Murtagh disapprove? Not that it would matter to Eragon. He wondered when Murtagh's opinion had become so important to him.

Murtagh just stared at his brother in shock. "You're…courting…Arya…" He seized Eragon up while still lying in his medical bed. The healers refused to let him leave until the figured out what was happening to his physical being. He still was breaking out into random bruises, like a teenager waking up to find a splatter of zits on their face. "Are you playing a joke on me?"

"No," said Eragon in a low, serious voice. "I mean this. We're courting. Is this a problem?"

"No, of course not!" said Murtagh quickly, propped up on his mattress. "It's just… well, quite frankly, Eragon, I thought you told me she thought you were a child."

"I know," admitted Eragon. "That's the strange part. She claims that she does not believe that anymore. She claims I've grown."

A moment of semi-silence shrouded the two men, other than the chittering if the injured at the bustling healers. The silence was broken as Murtagh grinned widely. "Bloody hell, Eragon, I can't believe it! That's great!"

Relief flooded the younger. "Thanks. I know, isn't it amazing? I was as amazed as you are." Eragon laughed. "Oh, by the way, you can close your mouth now."

Murtagh, realizing that he had started gaping again, immediately clasped shut his mouth. "So when are you going to tell everyone?"

Eragon shrugged. "We're just courting. No need for everyone to know unless it becomes something more serious."

"Well," chuckled Murtagh. "I sincerely hope it does become a more in depth relationship, Eragon. You are head over heels for her."

"Hey, cousin!" called a man across the room. "Cousin!" He waved to Murtagh. "Congratulations! I pray you have a lovely marriage."

Murtagh smiled politely. "I appreciate it. Thank-you, cousin."

Eragon arched an eyebrow. "Cousin?"

Murtagh snickered. "Yes, yes. People have been addressing me so ever since I said it was a term of respect when Roran came to visit. Do you remember?"

Eragon smirked. "That's hilarious."

"I know."

"Cousin!" called another, deep, accented voice.

Murtagh sighed and grinned accordingly. "Yes, how-" He paused to see that for the third time a dwarf was talking to him. Only a few dwarves had spoken to him, what with their mixed feelings on his person.

Murtagh, his smile now genuine, said, "Greetings, sir. What do you need?"

The dwarf stared fixedly on Murtagh. "What is a duke?"

Murtagh's gaze immediately grew distant. Then he said without hesitation:

"A duke is only someone of a high social level. 'Higher peerage,' I read somewhere. Most people think they are of royalty, but truth be told you do not have to be of majestic birth to be a duke. There are several royal dukes and several common. Such as the Duke of Lengthsworth, who recently died - he had no acquaintance with the king whatsoever. Then there was the Duke of Uru'baen. He and the king were close colleagues. He'd visit often. I honestly hate the bastard. Then there was the Duke of Huterson. He led the king's cavalry down to Dras Leona. Nasty time, that was. Then there is-"

The dwarf nodded. "You certainly know your dukes." He bowed to Murtagh. "Farewell, cousin." With that, he dashed off.

"Well," coughed Murtagh. "That was…strange."

"Amen," murmured Eragon, but he couldn't help smiling.

"What do you think that was about?"

Eragon shrugged nonchalantly. "Who knows. Maybe he was just testing out you brains?"

Murtagh said, "Maybe…" He scratched his throat. "Bloody hell, if only women knew how hard it was to itch your neck with an adam's apple in the way."

Eragon laughed. Then, he sobered up. "Murtagh, I need to talk tou you about something."

Murtagh smiled. "Sure, Eragon."

"What would you do if you were the next king? Hypothetically, of course."

"Hmmm…" Murtagh stared blankly at the form of his feet, which were concealed by a blanket. "I couldn't say. I'd clean up Alagaesia, that's for sure. I would probably pay my guards, I would most likely destroy Galbatorix's castle or turn it into a museum." His eyes lit up. "I know! I'd turn Morzan's bloody castle in to a relief center for those affected by the war." His eyes scanned the room. "Look at all the innocent civilians around you. They all have been hurt; they need someplace to go until their homes are rebuilt. Morzan's castle could become that." He grinned to himself.

Eragon smiled warmly. "That's a great idea, Murtagh. Really, you should do that. Turn that old place into something good." The concealed excitement on Murtagh's face was unreal. He seemed strangely enthusiastic for his future project.

"I think I will, once-" He was cut off as he stared down at his hand. What was tanned skin a moment ago was now a swollen sickeningly purple bruise that inflated his whole hand. He attempted to move his fingers, but as he did he winced in pain. "Well, that's not good…" Then, a look of comprehension crossed his face. "Eragon, I know what's happening to me! I know why injuries and wounds keep appearing on my body." He gazed at his hand, entranced. "I feel and look exactly like a did when I shattered my hand about a year ago." He grinned, feeling smart. "My body is reversing itself; all the slaves are. When our oaths were released, the magic within them made us revert to our original physical and mental appearance before we swore allegiance to him!"

Eragon pondered his statement. "Yes, that would make sense, seeing as you're sane again… I'll alert the healers and Nasuada of your theory."

* * *

Nasuada rushed into the medical tent she once resided in and pulled up a chair by Murtagh, having just heard his theory. "I think you may be on to something, Price Tag. The other slaves are experiencing similar things." She kissed him, and the soft squelching sound as they pulled apart was drowned by the noise in the tent. "You may be on to something." She cupped his cheek. "I'm sorry, but I have to leave. I only wanted to see you for a moment. I have work to attend to."

"What work?" he inquired, the disappointment heavy in his tone.

"The usual," she sighed. "We're deciding the new king."

Murtagh laughed. "Have fun with that."

Nasuada gazed at him in silence. "Would you ever be willingly to be king?"

Murtagh's face fell. "I don't know, Nas. The dwarves…"

"If the dwarves were happy with it, would you be willing to be king?"

Murtagh shifted. "I guess so. I do owe it to everyone to clean this place up…"

Nasuada smiled and kissed him soflty before exiting the tent.

* * *

Orik massaged his throbbing temple. "What do you say on the subject? Please, just tell me."

Almost the whole dwarven race was in the forest surrounding Uru'baen, holding a secret meeting.

"Don't accept him!" growled a woman from the crowd in her own language. "HE killed Hrothgar!"

"And he killed Galbatorix, too," cooed another dwarf. "If you want my opinion, I say we forgive him and move forward. He sounds as if he has the wanted knowledge."

A dwarf stepped up to Orik, who stood upon a fallen tree trunk. He muttered something in the latter's ear.

Orik nodded as the dwarf spoke. "We have just received important information," he boomed to the dwarves. He then wove a dialogue between Murtagh and the dwarf that gave him the message, reciting Murtagh's knowledge of dukes.

Whispers swarmed through the crowd as they conversed over the new piece of vital information.

"SILENCE!" shouted Orik, and the dwarves immediately hushed. "What say all of you?"

The crowd was quiet.

"Consider this," said Orik. "If Murtagh is not trusted enough by our people, than Nasuada _is_, and she would be his queen. She'll whip him into shape for us.

The thousands of dwarves nodded profusely.

"All _**not**_ in favor of Murtagh taking the throne, raise your hand."

About an eighth of the dwarves shakily raised the fists into the air that smelt of smoke."

"All that _**are**_ in favor of Murtagh becoming the next king, raise your hand.:

The remaining seven-eighths of the dwarven population steadily thrust their hands upward.

"It's settled then," shouted Orik. "I shall alert the Varden leader of our decision immediately."

* * *

Murtagh walked into a large tent in the center of the rubble, nervous. The blue flaps gently rustled as he walked through them. He halted as he lay eyes on an huge wooden square table dotted with Varden officials.

It was the first time the healers had allowed him to be out of bed, and that was only because he was called upon from Nasuada herself that there was an emergency situation in which he needed to be there for.

He stared at the people in the tent, who sternly returned his gaze.

"Please sit down," said Arya gently, indicating an empty seat beside her.

Murtagh obliged. He noticed that Nasuada, Roran, Eragon, and Orik were in the midst of the tables population. "You called upon me, milady?"

"Yes, Murtagh," said Nasuada in an all-business-like manner. "We understand that you have excessive knowledge of politics and the former system."

"Aye," said Murtagh warily.

"We also understand that you have…spent some time with the king and know what the duties of a ruler are."

"…Aye."

"Thus, we would like to offer you the occupation of the next king of Alagaesia."

Murtagh's mouth dropped to the floor. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," said Nasuada.

"King? I don't know, Nas… _King?_ What about the dwarves?"

"Already discussed it," barked Orik. "We have agreed - we want _you_ to be our next king, one that will unite the three races and rekindle the dragons."

Murtagh was silent for a long, long, long while. _King?_ No. He couldn't. No. No. No. No. No. NO! "I'm sorry, but I-"

"Think about it, Murtagh," said Eragon from across the table. "You could do so much good."

"And," put in Arya, "For your coronation the elves will happily present you with a gift. We would love to build you a new castle so you wouldn't have to live in Galbatorix's old one."

"That won't be necessary, Arya," said Murtagh. "But tell the elves I said thank-"

"Are you sure?" asked Arya. "We found a beautiful spot for it. Right on the sea. There's a view, grassy fields, it's remarkable."

Murtagh's heart sank. He _loved_ the sea. His name even meant 'sea warrior.' "Well," he began. "I suppose I could accept your generous gift. Really, I don't deserve it."

"Yes, you do," chuckled Arya. "Believe me, you do."

"I…thank-you, everyone." He turned to look at Nasuada beside Eragon. "Are you okay with this?"

Nasuada nodded, a hidden excitement in her eyes only Murtagh could recognize. "Very okay with it."

Murtagh took a deep breath. "All right then. I accept the offer. I'll be your new king." He laughed to himself. "But let me tell you, it'll be bumpy."

**The End**

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, yeah, I know - **SUCKISH ENDING**. I should have made the last chapter the ending. Which is why I have an epilogue!! (which is unbelievably short, so don't get your hopes up. I think it's like a page long!) Which should come out, like, by Monday at the most… Anywho, I hope you liked my story! **PLEASE REVIEW!!And don't forget, the sequel is called Starless Nights, so be on the lookout for that!**


	28. Epilogue

**A/N:** Hey, y'all! Thanks for all of the awesome reviews! Okay, so here is the epilogue. Hope y'all like it!

* * *

Epilogue- The Coronation

Arya and Eragon sat in a carriage filled with moonlight. It had been three weeks since the fall of Galbatorix. The soldiers had filed out of the remnants of Uru'baen, and the affected civilians flocked to Surda along with the warriors on both sides of the former war.

The sound of the carriage rolling beneath them was unnerving, simply because Eragon was so anxious. He could hardly sit still due to excitement.

It was his brother's coronation.

Eragon fidgeted. He kicked his legs up the full length of the bench, - Arya was sitting across from him - he twiddled his thumbs, he bounced in his seat, he scratched his nose, he smoothed out his tuxedo, he flattened his brown hair, he-

"Eragon," said Arya, amused. "Don't worry. Calm down, Murtagh will be a grand ruler." She chuckled. "You're acting like an antsy toddler!"

Eragon shifted. "I know, I'm just excited, that's all."

Arya stood up and plopped down beside Eragon on the opposite side of the carriage. She looked particularly lovely, her hair in a neat, tight black bun studded with emeralds that brought out her eyes. Her beautiful, strapless off-white gown, outlined with diamonds, hugged her curves nicely. She wrapped her arms around Eragon and kissed him lightly. She pulled away and grinned at his dazed expression he always received after one of her kisses.

"Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?" he said, on cloud nine.

Arya looked to the heavens. "Several times, Eragon, several times."

Eragon laughed.

_Little one,_ hummed Saphira's voice in his head. _I know you wanted to take a carriage to blend in. _She snickered. _But I am already here with Murtagh._

_Curses!_ growled Eragon. _I wish I was there! How is he?_

_Anxious,_ replied the dragon. _But only his family would be able to tell. And Nasuada, but she will be family soon._

_We already consider her family,_ responded Eragon.

_True. Listen, Eragon, I need to talk to you of something._

_Hmmm?_

Saphira mentally sighed. _I think I'm…attracted to Thorn._

Eragon knew this from their mental like, but to hear it being confirmed made his eyes widen. _How attracted?_

_Deeply. I haven't been able to think about anything other than him lately._

_I know,_ chuckled Eragon mentally. _We share minds, remember? It's strange, honestly, sharing feelings for a dragon… a _male_ dragon…_

_Now you know how I feel about you and Arya,_ chimed Saphira. _I prefer not to get an image of your little fantasies, but quite frankly I fear I have no choice._

_Lovely little speech, Saphira._

"What's Saphira saying?" asked Arya while leaning on the man's shoulder.

"Saphira's admitting that she's horny for Thorn," said Eragon in mock seriousness.

_ERAGON! I did _not_ say that, Arya. I said I think I may be attracted to him._

Arya grinned. "That's wonderful, Saphira. How does Thorn feel?"

_I think he may feel the same,_ she answered.

"Brilliant," said Eragon, and he kissed Arya again. He wanted to stay in the position, but he pulled away excitedly as the carriage creaked to a stop.

* * *

Murtagh paced in his room in Orrin's palace - that was, of course, the home where his coronation would be. Normally, a new king was instated in his own land, but seeing that it was in smithereens, King Orrin offered to host it in Surda. Murtagh found it ironic how his coronation was in _another_ king's castle, the king that he would not be overruling. He sighed and continued to pace until he heard the doorknob twitch. He pricked his ears, halted, and turned his head to see Nasuada slipping in through the entryway.

She either appeared absolutely stunning in her ruby dress, or Murtagh was simply blinded by love. But he had thought her to be beautiful before he even became drawn to her, so he assumed it must have just been the gown. The red sleeves were skin tight until her wrists, when they fanned out. It was a flowing outfit, hugging her hips and chest but poofing below her torso. As she walked up to Murtagh, the clicking of her black dress shoes echoed through the spacious room.

"Hey," she said. "I thought I might find you here. What's the problem?"

"Nothing," he responded, embracing her.

"Cold feet?"

"Yeah," he sighed tragically.

Nasuada giggled softly. "I know what you mean, Price Tag. I'm scared, too."

Murtagh sniffed. He had attempted to prevent his family from further use of the nickname "Price Tag," but he eventually ceased, realizing he was stuck with the term of endearment for the rest of his long life. "You're never scared."

"And you're so full of bull shit," she teased, tightening her grip around his abdomen.

"But that's why you love me."

"Yupp." She stared into his eyes, smiling. "They're starting to miss you down there. The man of honor has to be accounted for."

Murtagh tried to ruffle his fiancé's hair, but stopped. "Actually, I don't think I should mess it up right now." He grinned, examining her cascading black locks. "You know I love it when you put your hair down."

"You know I hate it, but seeing as I no longer have a war campaign to lead, I suppose I can suit your fancy." She sniggered and released the embrace, tugging his arm towards the door. "Come downstairs, Price Tag! They miss you."

"I will, it's just-" he paused, his gaze coming unfocused.

"What's Thorn have to say?" asked Nasuada, recognizing the expression. Valeo had become and excellent little emerald dragon, though not so little anymore. He had massive leg muscles and a strong jaw, though he still had a limber build that made him a great deal more speedy than Saphira and Thorn.

"Thorn's in love," replied Murtagh.

"Awe, with Saphira?"

"No, not Saphira, you silly girl, with Valeo," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, seeing Nasuada's expression, laughed. "It was a joke, babe."

"I know that," she sniffed. "Now let's go."

Murtagh, concealing his nervousness, sturdily obliged, heading for the staircase and down to the ballroom. He grinned his gleaming grin, hoping it looked like a smile instead of the grimace he felt more comfortable exerting at the moment. He shook hands and greeted his guests - whom were almost all of Alagaesia. His eyes lit up as he found his cousin and his new cousin-in-law. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Stronghammer, pleasure you could come."

Katrina blushed and Roran snickered. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Price Tag!" said Roran.

Murtagh smiled sweetly. "Lovely."

"Shadeslayer is here! The king's brother!" celebrated the crowded room.

Roran, Murtagh, and Katrina flicked their heads in Arya and Eragon's direction.

Eragon's heritage had been exposed a few weeks prior, when things had settled down some. Now that Murtagh was no longer an enemy, people didn't really care.

Eragon's head searched the crowd for Murtagh. Relief swept him as he found the three people grouped together. "Murtagh," cried Eragon as he reached them "How are you?"

"All right," said Murtagh. He proceeded to give Eragon a "man hug," as women called it.

By this time Arya had strutted up to them. "Murtagh," she said. She nodded in a small bow.

"No need to do that yet," chuckled Murtagh. "I hate the idea of everyone… I don't know what to call it, worshipping me? I can't imagine wearing my crown everywhere I go."

"You don't have to," commented Arya. "We elves never wear our crowns and tiaras unless on special occasions."

"Hmmm, I suppose that would work."

They continued to talk, mingle, and meet Murtagh's future subjects, smiling charmingly. This went on for hours.

* * *

Murtagh and Nasuada stood side by side, waiting at the top of the stairs.

"Today is a very special occasion," said King Orrin behind them.

Everyone laughed.

"Tonight is the grand coronation!"

Everyone cheered.

Murtagh pretended to be having a good time.

"After hundreds of years of suffering, Galbatorix has finally passed away, and a new era shall rise!"

More cheering. Thorn, Saphira, Glaedr, and Valeo snaked their heads in the hall.

"And so, young dwarves, elves, humans, and dragons, tonight we celebrate the new king and queen of Alagaesia!"

More cheering.

A list of good deeds were then recited from Orrin. Orrin wove stories of the Varden leader, and wove stories of Murtagh's heroism.

Murtagh and Nasuada just smiled, their cheeks starting to hurt from the phony grins. They both tried impeccably hard to listen to Orrin's speech, but they were not as fascinated as the commoners were about their lives.

After what seemed like forever to Murtagh, a servant boy trotted up the white marble steps Murtagh, Nasuada, and Orrin stood upon. He carried a purple pillow embroidered with gold rope; snuggled in the large pillow was a gaudy, close-topped crown decorated with every known jewel sparkling in the candlelight. It was red and gold, while platinum and silver adorned the edges.

Murtagh hid his grimace. _It looks so heavy, Thorn…_

_Quit being a baby and suck it up!_

Murtagh, his heart pounding, received an unexpected and sudden shot of adrenaline like an instant drug. He tried hard to stay still, praying he wouldn't make a complete fool of himself.

On the opposite side of the stairs a little girl with a proud grin on her face, pointed ears, catlike blue eyes, and raven hair walked up the steps with such grace she appeared to be dancing. One of the few elven children alive. She carried a royal purple pillow embroidered with gold rope as well. Except, instead of a crown, a silver tiara with uncountable diamonds littering it (in a remarkably beautiful fashion) lay in the center of the cushion. Children's eyes lit up as they were bedazzled by the gems that were glittering from the light of the chandelier.

Nasuada bit her cheek.

The two children bowed to King Orrin and stood on either side of the future rulers.

King Orrin smiled warmly and gazed upon Nasuada and Murtagh. "Please Kneel."

The two obliged.

King Orrin walked over to the excited little elf girl and gingerly grasped Nasuada's tiara. He carefully walked over to the ebony woman's stooped form and placed the circlet on her skull, the diamonds contrasting beautifully with her dark hair.

King Orrin than proceeded to walk over to the tiny servant boy trying to conceal his bashful smile. Orrin, with immense caution, picked up Murtagh's heavy crown and slowly meandered to the Red Rider. Orrin gently placed the crown on Murtagh's head.

As the sign of royalty made impact with Murtagh's noggin, he strained his neck so he wouldn't tip under it's load. The thing weighed a ton!

The elf girl and the servant boy stood erected like smirking statues.

King Orrin smiled, his eyes passing from Nasuada to Murtagh.

The ballroom, now deathly quiet, waited, anticipating his next words.

King Orrin paused for a second, taking in the moment as the world seemed to stand still. "Rise, Nasuada, O' Daughter of Ajihad, and Murtagh, O' Son of Morzan, as the new king and queen of Alagaesia!"

Murtagh and Nasuada steadily stood, but on the inside they were shaking with exhilaration.

The ballroom erupted in thunderous applause. Murtagh could almost see the ground shake under their nonstop cheering.

Murtagh turned to his future wife and kissed her hard and passionately, a kiss in which Nasuada returned.

The ballroom's applauding, if possible, grew even louder and more deafening.

"Come, everyone!" Orrin shouted into the hooting and hollering. "Food and beverages in the dining hall!"

Everyone flocked to the dining area, the several feet sounding like a herd of elephants. People rushed to get beer, rum, mead, wine, and whatnot. The partying was out of control and unceasing until the early hours of the morning, and the only reason it stopped then was because everyone passed out from too much alcohol.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, so that is the REAL end! Muahahahahahahahahahahaha! It's over! I'm kind of happy it's over, now I'm scared that I won't get Starless Nights done in enough time for book 3 to come out o.O Anywho, I hoped you liked the epilogue. I kinda liked the ending. It made me chuckle in my head a little when I was writing it. Anywho, PLEASE review! Starless Nights should be up very soon! I already have the prologue written xD


	29. Author's Note

**Hey, everyone! I would just like to thank everyone for reading this. I forgot to stick this up two weeks ago, when it was suppose to be posted. Although most of you already know this, I would like to take a second to say that Starless Nights has in fact been posted for those of you who wanted a sequel. Yes... I just thought I'd say that. You don't have to check it out; I just forgot to announce this earlier incase there are people out there who haven't heard the news yet. XD **

**I would like to thank everyone who reviewed and followed this story. It took a bloody while to finish, but I did it! (feels accomplished) I hope I can get Starless Nights finished too. I know I will, I'm just worried that it will be outdated because Brisingr comes out in 53 days!! YAY!! :D**

**Okay, so thank-you everyone for the reviews! I feel so special, limh. :P I have received more reviews on this story than I ever could imagine! I honestly don't know why, either, but I'm happy you guys took the time to give me the greatly loved feedback! And for those of you who wanted it, check out my profile page and click on Starless Nights.**

**Thanks A Million!**

**-Sammeh**


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